No More Words
by dawnsfire
Summary: That's it. No more. I'm done and I don't want to hear any more. Brennan at the end of her rope.
1. No More Promises

Thank you, all you kind people! I got unanimous requests to continue--I wrote more than I expected, but I hope you'll find the trip interesting! As of right now, the destination's a little in doubt. Definitely, feedback is welcomed and wanted!

Story title and assorted lyrics in this chapter from an 80s song by Berlin. Completely ignoring all spoilers for the rest of the season!

(Please note: this would likely happen after Mayhem on a Cross or Double Death…, or as I'm referring to it, 4D.)

Official Disclaimer: Characters are not mine, I claim only the interpretation.

------------------------------------------------------------------

"So, Angela said you had a date last night. How'd it go?"

"Angela needs to stop telling you things," Brennan muttered, taking a rather large mouthful of salad. Booth waited patiently.

"Two things," she finally said. "One, I don't want to talk about it. And two, it's none of your business."

"Oh, come on, Bones--"

She leveled a deadly glare at him and he shut his mouth.

_You're talking, it all sounds fair  
You promise your love how much you care  
I'm still listening and still unsure  
Your actions are lacking, nothing is clear_

When they were nearly back at the Jeffersonian, he tried again. "I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say your date didn't go well. I don't know what's wrong with some of these guys."

"How should I know?" she asked tightly. "And it didn't go that poorly--it just wasn't quite…satisfactory. He seemed to lack something that I cannot properly define."

"You deserve better, Bones," he said as they walked back into the lab. "You're a wonderful person, and if these morons can't see beneath--"

"No. Not one more word," she suddenly hissed, turning to face him.

_No more words  
You're telling me you love me while you're looking away  
No more words  
No more words, and no more promises of love_

"I don't want to hear it, Booth. It's all empty promises and meaningless words. Eventually. Someday. Someone for everyone. No. It's not going to happen and I'm tired of hearing otherwise."

_Remember when the words were new  
They carried a meaning, a feeling so true_

She gave him a little push and stalked off to her office, slamming the door shut in his face. A tiny click told him she had locked it--the first time she had ever done so since they started to work together.

_Don't fool yourself  
Your empty passion won't satisfy me  
I know, so don't pretend that you want me  
You don't want me, no!_

"What happened between you and Booth?" Angela asked near the end of the day. "His tail was well and truly between his legs when he left."

"I don't know what you mean," Brennan said, not looking up. "Humans are not equipped with a tail. The coccyx is a vestigial tail found in all tailless primates, but it is not visible through the skin, so how could he--"

"It's a metaphor, sweetie. He was sad. Beaten. Guilty. It's a--comparison to a dog's body language," she replied, searching for words.

"Oh. I don't know." She could feel Angela's eyes on her.

"Did you two fight?"

"No." She realized the terse answer denied itself. "No, it wasn't a fight. I don't know what it was, but it wasn't a fight. He was just being persistent about my date last night and wasn't accepting that I didn't want to talk about it."

"Well, you know why. Everyone knows how he feels about you and you about him."

Brennan finally looked at her friend. "Not everyone," she murmured, turning off her computer. "I'm done. The irresistible force has met the unmovable object and I," she hesitated, bit her lip. "I lost."

_Your eyes show nothing, no lover's flame  
Don't promise we can work it out  
You can leave right now if you're feeling doubt_

_No more words  
You're telling me you love me while you're looking away  
No more words  
No more words, and no more promises of love_

_

* * *

_I took the chance to clean it up just a little. And for those new to this little tale, it was originally in my collection of one-shots, Vignettes.


	2. Unraveling

Unraveling

I decided to set it after Girl in the Mask. Same disclaimer, of course!

* * *

"I lost," Brennan said sadly. Angela worried at her own lip at the look on her friend's face. Something was missing there, some spark was gone.

"I'm going home," she added with a sigh.

"Are you sure you're all right, Bren?" Now Angela was really worried--Brennan had gone home early maybe ten times in the decade-plus she had worked at the Jeffersonian. And even then, she was _never _the first one out the door without having an appointment or class.

"I'm fine, Ange. Just…tired, you know?" She gathered up her things. "I'll see you tomorrow, all right?"

"All right, sweetie."

By Angela's watch, she hadn't even been gone a quarter hour when Booth came striding in. "Angela, you seen Bones?"

"You just missed her, Booth," Angela informed him. "She's gone for the night."

"Gone?" He checked his watch. "It's barely five. There wasn't anything on her schedule. Why'd she leave?"

"That's what I want to know." She looked at him hard, hands on her hips. "You did something, G-man; you must have. Her mood took a definite down-turn after she got back from lunch. And she's _never _locked her door, either."

"Nothing. I don't think so, anyway." His bewilderment was plain. Her curiosity built; she definitely needed to talk with Bren--and soon. This was major. She would say break-up major, except they weren't (sadly) an actual couple.

"There a case?" she asked, nodding at the file he held.

"What? Yeah. A skeleton was found on a developer's site. Hang on." He flipped open his phone and called Brennan. "She's not picking up."

"She's driving, Booth. Text her."

********************************

Brennan sighed. She didn't want to talk to Booth--she wanted a bath and her bed, and maybe a little wine. Some peace in which to think--and the heavy, comforting, _private _weight of the dark to do it in.

Her phone announced an arriving text. She glanced at it while at a red light. Booth. Of course. He can't leave her alone for one night? _We have a case_.

She growled annoyance, but pulled to the side of the road to respond. _Where?_

There was an obvious hesitation on his end--even Booth didn't take that long to text so simple a thing--but then the address popped up. Just outside the city, and in the direction she was already headed. _I'll meet you there_, she responded and disconnected before pulling back into traffic.

********************************

"Well?" Angela demanded as Booth stared down at his phone.

"She'll meet me there," he said in a queer tone.

"Relax--she's probably closer to the scene than to the Jeffersonian. Better get going, though. And don't think," she called after him, "that we're done."

"Right. Tell Cam and Hodgins, would you?"

When he got to the scene, he indeed found her there, crouched at the edge of a very narrow trench, and plying a flashlight over the remains.

********************************

As always, she knew the minute he took his usual place behind her, out of her light. Without any preliminaries, she began to tell off her findings. "Male. 30s. There are both Native-American and African-American racial indicators, indicating mixed race. No apparent sign of trauma nor cause of death. Bones are actually remarkably free of any previous trauma, in fact. Even the skull seems whole. I can't say more than that right now due to the width of the trench. There's a chance this might turn out to be an archeological site rather than a crime scene, even though I cannot properly determine the age of the bones at present and see no items that would normally be buried with a corpse: personal adornment, buttons, that sort of thing. But the body was buried supine with arms folded across the chest, and the head points east, as is typical in many cultures, such as American slaves, the practitioners of the Odinic rite, as well as being the traditional pose for Christian burial. I'll want to get some of our people from the Archeology Department out here tomorrow to assist."

"Now, wait a minute, Bones."

She pushed herself to her feet. "Archeology will be at least as careful as I and Mr. Nigel Murray would be. And if it turns out to be their site, then they have a proper start."

"Great. How long will that take?"

"Nobody will be able to be here before 8 or 9 in the morning." She hadn't taken her eyes off the bones, but now she looked up and scanned the observers. "Marcus? Could you cover the bones and secure the site, please?"

"We've got some plastic sheeting, Dr. Brennan, and I can arrange for a guard. Will you want us here in the morning as well?"

"Yes. It might still be a crime scene, after all."

"No problem, Dr. Brennan." Geier flicked a look at Booth, but neither man said anything.

She dusted herself off, still not looking at Booth, and pulled out her phone. "Cam--it's Dr. Brennan. No, not tonight. Might be archeological--can you call Dr. Wysman and have him assemble a small team here? Eight would be best, but no later than nine. And tell Mr. Nigel Murray he needs to be here as well. Yes, full…camera and all." She walked away from the remains as she spoke, Booth following. "All right…thanks. Yes, see you tomorrow."

She leaned against her car with a sigh. "Go away, Booth. Question your witnesses and leave me alone."

"Bones. What's wrong? What did I do?" His genuine incomprehension nearly did her in.

"Nothing. It's not important. Cam's leaving a message with the head of Archeology. We should be digging no later than nine, so the construction site is closed as of now."

"Bones--"

"And since there isn't any more for me to do at present, I'm going home."

"Bones--"

"_Booth_. I'm tired. I just want to go home." Now she looked at him. "It's been a long week, and it's not over yet."

He studied her in that penetrating way he had--the one that made her wonder how he couldn't _see_ how she felt. Whatever he saw now, however, was enough.

"All right, Bones. Eat something, OK? I'll pick you up--7:30 all right?"

"No, don't trouble yourself. I can drive."

He looked troubled. "Fine. Meet you here at eight?"

"Eight." Without another word, she got into the car and drove away.


	3. Dissection and Analysis

Thanks to blc for the Sully thought, even if I did turn it slightly on its head.

* * *

When Brennan got home, she did exactly as she intended: poured a glass of wine, lit a few candles, and ran a bath. The scents of the candles and the bath oil mingled pleasantly as she slid in and picked up the novel she had been reading.

The glass was half empty and she was deep in a description of the Fire Swamp when her phone rang. She sighed in exasperation, but checked the caller id. _Angela_. With a sigh, she answered.

"Yes, Ange?"

"Just seeing how you were doing, sweetie. Cam said the remains won't be at the lab until tomorrow?"

"That's correct. Probably in the afternoon. There are indicators that it might not even be a case."

There was a brief silence. "Sweetie, you and I have to talk."

"Have breakfast with me, then. We can go to that coffee shop near the lab. I just have to be at the site by eight." At her friend's groan, she sternly replied, "You're the one wanting to talk to me, Angela; you can get up a little earlier. Or you can wait until later in the day. Your choice."

"Fine. Seven at the coffee shop."

Call over, Brennan leaned back in the tub, wondering what she was going to tell Angela. _She _had barely figured out what had happened herself!

She was still struggling with it the next morning when Angela sat down across from her.

"Well?"

"I don't know how to explain it, exactly, Ange. I'm not evading the question," she added hastily as Angela started to protest. "But I really don't know what to say or where to start."

"Start with whatever Booth said yesterday, then you can backtrack."

Brennan nodded, taking a sip of her coffee. "He kept harassing me about my date--and I wish you hadn't told him I had been on one!" She was rather exasperated about that--how had her private life become so public?

"I am sorry about that, Bren," Angela said, spreading out her hands in apology. "It just came up--I didn't search him out with the intent of telling him."

"All right. Just--try harder next time. Please," she said, letting her fierce expression fade. "Anyway, when I told it hadn't been bad, just unsatisfactory--that Brian lacked something--he started to tell me about how I deserve better."

"You do, Bren," Angela said, leaning forward. "And Booth would be it."

"You know. I know. Apparently everyone on the entire planet knows except him! Inspector Pritchard in London could see something. Even Ken Nakamura made some reference to it." Brennan sighed and picked at the sweet roll in front of her. "I wouldn't even let him finish his sentence yesterday. Ange, he's been telling me all these…things for a couple years now. Since Sully left, actually." Her teeth caught at her lip briefly. "'Everything happens eventually.' 'There's someone for everyone.' 'Someday…' And he gets this look in his eye and-- Nothing. Ever. _Happens_. I couldn't take another one of his pat little lines." She could feel a bubble of emotion in her throat and swallowed it back like she had so many times before. "I suppose I snapped--is that the word?"

Angela nodded.

"I thought about this last night. He's a great investigator. A master at reading people. _So why can't he read me?_ We've only worked together for four years now." She gulped her coffee--the bubble wasn't cooperating this time. Maybe the heat of the coffee would dissolve it? Clinging to her composure, she looked back at Angela, trying to see if her friend understood. It looked as though she did.

"I'm not good with emotions or people, and you know I've never been one to flaunt myself."

"That's true. I've sometimes thought you should be more open, less subtle," Angela replied thoughtfully. "You face danger as it comes as bravely as anyone I've ever seen, but you don't seek it out. You drop little hints when you're interested in something, but rarely come out and ask for anything plainly. Asking him to let you out in the field was wildly out of character for you. But it was a good thing, wasn't it?"

"I'm beginning to wonder," she muttered. Louder, she said, "But it was an attainable goal. One of those agents we worked with would have given in--ha!--eventually. For something like this, I need to see…to know…" She groped for words.

"You need a safety net, to know he'll catch you when you make that leap. I understand, Bren, really I do. Tell me about this look he gives you."

"You've seen them. You called them 'eyesex' once. But when he's looking at me like that, it's as though there's no one else in the room, in the world, but the two of us. Sometimes it takes my breath away." She smiled wistfully. "Once I thought he was about to kiss me."

"You two kissed under the mistletoe."

"No, I kissed him. This was about a year earlier and _he _would have kissed _me_. But Zack interrupted and a couple weeks later he's drawing his damn line. He started by talking about Cam, but he had shifted to talking about us by the end."

"And after that, he starts spouting homilies," Angela said, understanding. "My poor Bren! No wonder you're confused. Eat, sweetie. The last thing you need right now is Booth haranguing you about food."

Brennan finally picked up the roll and took a bite; Angela played with the crumbs on her own plate, thinking.

"What happened at the dig site last night?"

"Nothing. I barely said anything to him beyond work. He tried to talk, but I wouldn't let him. It's concern, and it's real enough, but it's not what I want! And he doesn't seem to understand!"

"No, he doesn't. When he came looking for you--you must have passed on the road or pulling out of the garage--I asked what was going on, and he was genuinely confused. You scared us, sweetie," she gently chided. "Not picking up your phone like that. And when you said you'd meet him there, he looked like a puppy that had just been kicked. But he didn't know why he was being punished." She thought some more. "Some investigator he is."

"I can't do this anymore, Ange. I can't pretend all is well, and we're just partners and will be just partners for the rest of our careers. And he'll be there at the scene this morning and it'll be the same nonsense all over again." The bubble rose in her throat again, choking her for a moment. "I don't--can't--" She pressed a fist to her mouth, blinking furiously. Angela grabbed her free hand in both of hers.

"You shouldn't have to, sweetie. I hate to see you close off like that, but if you've been dropping these little hints in front of him for--how long?"

"At least a year," Brennan managed.

"--For at least a year if not more, and he hasn't seen them, then I can't really blame you. And I can see why you wouldn't make the first move after that line BS. I--hope you won't lock me out, too," she added worriedly.

"Never, Ange. You're my oldest friend and I couldn't do that to you. But I closed down on him and I don't know that I want to open myself to this again."

"You know, I wonder--he's not been himself, either. He's been way harsh with you over the last couple months, I've noticed. He hasn't called you on your opinions or lack of pop-culture like that since we first started working together."

Brennan rubbed her temple. "No. And that hurts, too. It became more teasing, I suppose, or a pattern of speech, than criticizing for a while. Like the book I'm reading--when the farm boy says 'as you wish,' he's saying something deeper than it sounds. Or at least I thought it was like that."

"I love that movie. At least the farm boy knew he was saying more. Booth's clueless." She snorted at that. "FBI Agent clueless--now that's irony."

"Exactly. And we've always had those discussions, but you're right, there's an edge to them now that hasn't been there in a long time." She sighed and looked away. "It's running, Ange, and I know it, but I'm starting to think I should go on a dig again. I still get offers; it wouldn't be hard to find a good one."

"You didn't run when it was Sully leaving," Angela pointed out. "And that was your most intense relationship since--I don't know. Even with Pete you weren't that involved."

"This is Booth, not Sully. What I felt for Sully was like a grain of sand, whereas with Booth, it's the whole beach. A universe of beaches, even." She took a deep breath and finally said it out loud. "I think this must be how a broken heart feels, Ange; and I don't know how to mend it. But it seems to me that one of the remedies should be removing the cause of pain. And since I can't make _Booth _leave…"

After thinking about it for a few minutes, Angela nodded sadly. "I think you're right. It kills me to say so, but I really do think you are. Though I do hope you can figure out a way to handle it without leaving the country. "I'd miss you, sweetie."

"Thank you." Brennan sniffled and looked at her watch. "Oh! I need to go."

"Call me for lunch if you're still out there. Ignore those puppy-dog eyes of his. Otherwise you might find yourself hauled into his truck and taken out to lunch and charmed into forgetting all this. Why put yourself through more grief?"

"Thanks, Ange. I will. And I don't want you to run off and tell him, please?"

"No. He can threaten to shoot me all he wants, but I'll hold fast. I wanted you two to get together, but you are my friend first." Outside the door, Angela swept her friend up into a tight hug. "It'll work out. One way or another."

"You promise?"

"I do. Head and heart," she murmured.

* * *

OK, some of you may recognize the references. I've been rereading _The Princess Bride_. I figured Brennan would be contrary enough to prefer the book to the movie (except maybe for the swordfight on the Cliffs of Insanity. Yow!). Bonus points if you can id all three.

And what's your opinion on her leaving? This can go any number of ways…


	4. Ripples

A slight delay...I meant to have this up earlier, but some of it came easily and some not so easily. Plus, I was out frivolling at a play over the weekend. Hope this suits!

* * *

Booth arrived at the crime scene a quarter to eight, halfway expecting to see his partner already there. He had two cups of coffee ready as a peace offering, plus the bagel she preferred. When in doubt, have gifts. Even with Bones.

It was twenty minutes later when her car pulled up. She got out, ready for work in her jumpsuit, hair in a tight bun, kit in hand.

"Bones!" he called. She glanced at him, but continued on her way to the trench, exchanging a few words with the guard. They peeled back the sheeting and he bundled it away as she crouched. Booth gathered up his peace offering and hastily joined her.

"Morning, Bones," he said. "See anything new?"

"Maybe," she replied in an abstracted voice. She brushed away a fine layer of dust with a gloved hand.

"Here," he said, holding out the coffee and bag. "Got you a bagel, too."

"No, thanks. I already ate. Met Angela this morning. But thank you," she added as an obvious afterthought.

She was already studying the skeleton in the stronger morning light and missed how his face fell. Unfortunately, he didn't get a chance to talk any further, try to find out what was wrong, as others began to arrive. Soon, the area was filled with people in forensic blue and black, with the Archeology people a scattering of brighter and more casual wear. Bones took charge in her imperious way and they all settled into careful digging and sifting, widening the trench, searching for clues.

Booth knew he wasn't needed, not really, but he couldn't make himself leave. He prowled about, watching. If he hadn't been so…distracted, he might have found the archeologists' methods interesting. But he couldn't tear his eyes from his partner.

To his dismay, he never managed to get a private word in with her all day. It didn't seem deliberate, though one never knew with her. She was intent on her work, continuing to instruct her intern as well as the Archeology crew and his forensics team all morning. About noon, with the trench widened enough to permit people to stand in it and people starting to break for lunch, she made a call.

Angela and Hodgins showed up about twenty minutes later with lunch for her. Hodgins began to take samples from the trench while the women disappeared under some shade trees, neither sparing him a glance.

"Hey man," Hodgins said, seeing him stare after them. "Don't worry. It's just some girl talk. I understand there might have been some sort of…feminine crisis, if you will. Mere mortal men such as we _don't _need to know, trust me."

"I think I do," he said quietly, his gut screaming something undecipherable at him. Looking down, he could see Hodgins hadn't heard him; maybe that was all for the best. It was plain he knew nothing about it and Booth was reluctant to talk to him about it anyway.

Bones came back to work, hugging Angela briefly before they headed back to the lab with Jack's samples. And still she said nothing to him, still didn't look at him. His mood was slowly shifting from worry to frustration, but he didn't dare interrupt the work.

About fourteen hundred hours, the bones were freed from the ground and carefully laid out on a tarp. Bones and Nigel-Murray knelt over them, pointing things out to each other.

"Dr Wysman," she said finally. "I would say this is indeed your site. Though I would have to run further tests to be completely sure, I would put the age of these bones at 200 years, at the earliest."

"I would agree, Dr. Brennan," the archeologist said. "We've found buttons in the style of the late eighteenth century, as well as fragments of wood consistent with a badly decayed coffin. Are we cleared to work the site?"

She looked at Booth then. "Booth?"

"Yeah." He approached and looked over the skeleton. He had to admit, they looked older than the ones he usually saw with her. "You're certain, Bones? They're that old?" he asked, striving for a level of normalcy.

"Within a margin of 50 years. As I said, further tests…"

"Right, right. OK, Dr. Wysman, the field is yours. I'll notify the developer. He probably won't be happy, but he knows the law as well as I do in regards to historic finds."

He got caught up in discussion with Wysman, and only after finishing did he realize that Bones and her intern were gone.

***************************************

Back at the Jeffersonian, Brennan and Vincent analyzed the skeleton, running the last tests on it.

"It's official--this belongs to Archeology," she announced. "The bones are approximately 225 years old, male, mixed race. Tell Booth," she said to the air, ignoring the quick looks exchanged among her coworkers.

Back in her office, she picked up the little figures of Jasper and Brainy and looked at them sadly. Just more meaningless tokens, she decided, and dropped them into a drawer. Change be damned--true evolution was rarely noticeable in the span of one lifetime; foolish to expect otherwise. Checking her email, she found a notice of a huge dig planned in Greenland--a recently uncovered Viking colony in the Western Settlement. That sounded good, as she had never been there, nor had Booth ever mentioned he had been there either.

She sent an email requesting further information, then turned to work.

***************************************

From that point on, when Booth had come in, she gave him only the vaguest answers. Refused to leave the lab. Since there were no cases of high urgency, "no car fires, no tanker barrels full of acid, no explosions," he couldn't force her, either. In fact, the criminal element seemed to give Brennan a break, as there was only one case, and she didn't need to work onsite. He did come in at lunch or dinner, like he usually did, and she refused point-blank every time, claiming work or other plans which Angela would always back up.

One night, he actually pulled her off the platform and physically manhandled her toward the door. Fortunately for all involved, it had been late and the only witnesses to her yanking her arm free and shoving him had been Booth and Brennan themselves, Angela, and the most discreet security guard on staff.

"What part of no don't you understand?" she had yelled at him. "I'm not hungry, I don't want dinner, and I'm not leaving until I finish what I'm working on! Damn it, Booth! Leave me alone for once!" She had stalked back to the platform, with a nearly plaintive whisper to Angela, "Why does he keep doing this to me?"

***************************************

Of course, people noticed the partners' behavior. The ripples spread as first Hodgins, then Max, noticed.

Hodgins knew better than to raise the subject with Brennan herself, so he took himself off to Angela. They might not be lovers anymore, but they were still friends, and if there was anything to know, Angela would.

She allowed herself to be forthright with him. "Yes, there is a problem, Jack. But I promised not to talk about it."

"It's all Booth's fault, isn't it? I should slip a laxative into his coffee," Hodgins muttered and Angela wrapped her arms about him.

"This is probably as much Booth's fault as it was yours that _we_ broke up. Just one of those terrible mix-ups with lots of misunderstandings and willful blindness."

It didn't calm him, though, and he began to regard Booth with a malevolent eye, especially once Angela gave him a rather obviously abbreviated explanation. He wasn't sure how far to push it--being a billionaire conspiracy theorist with ties into some shady networks gave him a lot of scope for vengeance. He probably could arrange to have Booth wake up in Outer Mongolia one morning. But he held back, out of respect for Dr. B. If she ever expressed any interest in his plans, however, all bets were off.

***************************************

As for Max, a charming sociopath he might be, but he had learned his lessons well over the years. He needed all the patience he had developed, and a hunter's alertness. He saw his daughter disappearing at odd times, and Booth skulking around like a bad burglar. He also saw the stiffness and restraint Tempe was employing more and more around her partner, and Booth's puzzlement and growing wariness.

It killed him that she would not confide in him, but he understood. She had made it clear where he stood and by how thin a margin. But he would try; at the very least she would know he was there for her. What he didn't understand (and he thought he knew how the man's mind worked) was why Booth was acting skittish.

At least whatever issues were between her and Booth, her relationship with young Parker was unchanged. The boy was genuinely attached, so far as Max could tell, and was always happy to see her. And she to see him.

He took his life in his hands one day, tapping on her doorframe. "Tempe, sweetheart, are you up for dinner? Remember how I used to make waffles sometimes when you were kids?"

She smiled, the first genuine smile he had seen on her face in a week. "What I remember is Mom doing all of the mixing and preparation and you merely pouring the batter into the waffle iron."

"Hey!" he protested. "Cooking time is important, and I never gave you a burned one, nor a wimpy one, did I?" He grinned. "Interested?"

"Sure, Dad. Let me just finish this." She rapidly typed a few more words and saved, before standing.

They walked out together, Max telling her about some of the more improbable things the kids had said and done. She laughed outright at the boy who wanted to grow candy trees from candy corn and jawbreakers.

Which was when they bumped into Booth. The agent brightened when he heard Tempe laugh. "Bones! Glad I caught you—did you want to have dinner?"

Max slanted a glance at her and was distressed to see how fast she shut down.

"Sorry, Booth, but I've already made plans to eat with my dad tonight." Polite words, but spoken in cold tones. Oh yes, Ruth could be like that, too, when she was upset.

Booth's face fell and Max started to say he could reschedule, but Tempe wouldn't let him. "I'm looking forward to dinner, dad," she said. "Maybe another time, Booth."

"Another time? You've been saying that for weeks now, Bones! When is it time?"

She didn't answer, merely lengthening her stride as she walked away. Max nodded cautiously at Booth, seeing the increasingly familiar mix of pain, anger, and fear writ large on his face and posture.

"Sweetheart, you're being awfully rough on him. Care to tell me why?"

"Not really, dad." That was as clear a warning as he had ever gotten.

"All right. But I'm here if you want to talk. I want you to know that."

"Thanks, Dad. Really."

***************************************

Cam was the last of the lab's major players to notice, and like Hodgins, she came knocking on Angela's door, looking for information.

"Angela, what's wrong with Dr. Brennan?"

Angela looked up solemnly. "I can't say, Dr. Saroyan," she answered formally.

"Seeley did something, didn't he?"

"I…couldn't say." Which was answer enough.

"Is that why I received a request from her to go on a nine-month sabbatical?"

"Possibly."

"And Seeley doesn't know about that, does he?"

Angela shrugged. Only she had any idea how much Bren was ignoring her cell phone, screening her calls, and how often around lunch or dinner she would disappear from the lab just in case Booth came in. (And she wasn't sure how Bren managed her timely disappearing act!) She thought it was actually rather sad that without Booth's noisy presence, how few people paid attention to her friend's actions. Jack had noticed, quite early, but then…he knew Brennan, too.

And he was still turning over revenge sequences in his head; at least once a day, he would pop into Angela's office talking about fire ants or laxatives or whatever gross thing he had come across most recently. Telling Bren his wilder plans was one of the few things that made her smile.

But now, she had to find an answer for Cam. "She mentioned earlier this month that she was interested in restarting her foreign work. I didn't know she had a dig in mind already." Only half a lie.

"She also wants to stop outside consultant work between now and when the sabbatical starts."

"That makes sense. There are all sorts of preparations to make--vaccinations, packing, finding a replacement for her academic work."

"Angela. There is something going on. And _you_ know what it is. She's acting like she did while Zack was in Iraq--not going into the field, giving Seeley the cold shoulder. And don't think I haven't noticed how she disappears for brief periods during the day…which also happens to be when I see him lurking about."

Angela shrugged. "I really couldn't say."

"I need to know, Angela," Cam said, leaning over the desk.

"I don't know if there's anything I can do. But I can check." Once Cam left, she picked up her phone. "Sweetie? You in your office? Cam just came by asking what was going on. She's pretty sure Booth's behind it. What should I tell her?"

***************************************

"I'll tell her something, Ange. Thanks."

Brennan tightened her lips. Cam was sometimes oblivious to their dynamics; of all times for her not to be! Between her and Sweets, she was going to have to say something to somebody. Because Sweets had certainly noticed something was wrong the handful of times he had seen them. Even she could read that expression on his face! However, since they weren't technically his patients anymore, weekly meetings were no longer required and she had stopped going. She didn't know if Booth had gone to any of them, nor what he had said if he did. She was trying not to care.

One thing at a time. Talk to Cam now, worry about Sweets later.

"Dr. Saroyan?"

"Dr. Brennan. Please, take a seat."

"That's all right. I won't be long. I understand you want to know why I chose to go on sabbatical now."

"Yes. Not that you aren't entitled to do so, but I've noticed that you and Booth are having some problems. Is that why?"

"Something he said, yes, was the catalyst for my decision. It was a private matter, so I would prefer not to go into detail. However, I haven't been on a dig for several years--since I started working with the FBI, in fact--and I need the change of--hmm--pace, to make sure my other skills don't atrophy. It's been at the back of my mind for a while."

"I see. Well, I will notify the various agencies of your decision."

"Thank you."

"We will miss you," Cam said. "Booth especially."

"I doubt it," she murmured as she walked out.

***************************************

That's not like her at all, Cam realized as she sent the official notice. She tapped the desk thoughtfully and forwarded both Brennan's request and her own email to Booth. Let him handle it. She was an employee of the Jeffersonian; her main loyalties should be to her coworkers and subordinates, not to Seeley. But a heads up probably wouldn't hurt.


	5. Immoveable and Irresistible

Thank you, all of you who reviewed and alerted and favorited! And thanks as ever to blc for looking over this chap and giving me an idea or two or three. Hope the changes meet your approval!

* * *

"BONES!"

Brennan flinched. She was trapped in her office and there was a raging Booth outside.

She sat back down and stared at the report on her screen, pulling on the stoic scientist mask that used to put him off. At least a little.

He careened into her doorframe, anger practically radiating from him in the visible spectrum. "Bones! What the hell are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking I need to lock my door more often so I can get some work done," she retorted, not looking up.

"That's not what I meant and you know it! I mean, this little email from Cam about you going on sabbatical? When were you going to tell _me_? Your partner, remember? Four years we've been working together and you don't have the courtesy to tell me yourself? Or even that you were _thinking _about it?" Eyes glittering, he came around to her side of the desk and spun her chair so that she faced him.

"I would have told you. But Cam had to be notified first, as my supervisor, and she's the one who must tell the various agencies we contract out with that my services will not be available while I'm out of the country," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. "That's _protocol_," she added nastily.

"_Protocol_? When did you start caring about _protocol_?" he bellowed. "And wait--out of the country? What hellhole are you visiting this time? Are you _trying _to get yourself killed?"

"It's not a hellhole, not even a war-zone, but simply a dig much like the one I was supposed to do in China. Just longer."

"Longer by about eight months and three weeks! You said you gave up those longer trips, Bones. Something about working here at home, finding murderers and giving victims their identities back, as I recall." He had quieted, but the edge in his voice was more dangerous than his yelling.

"And I realized with the last case that some of the skills I don't need while assisting the FBI are in danger of atrophying--deteriorating--because I'm not using them. Clark will be assisting you while I'm gone. He's quite good, after all." She pushed his hands off the arms of her chair with more force than she perhaps needed and turned back to her computer.

"Where are you going?" he demanded.

She shrugged, dodging the question. "I've told you that I didn't become an anthropologist to do just forensics work. I have a very real interest in anthropological discoveries, prehistoric and otherwise."

He stared at her; she could feel his eyes boring into her, as absurd as that sounded. "You're not leaving this room until you explain to me what's going on." He shut her door, turning the lock with deliberate care, then lowered the blinds before facing her again.

"There's nothing I have to explain to you, Agent Booth," she said in the chilliest voice she had. "As I have explained to you many times, I do have work that falls outside the FBI's purview. I have neglected some of it and decided that this would be an excellent time to catch up. Do you understand that or should I speak slower?" She studied his face, gauging how far she could push him. A sharp break on both sides might be cleaner. "And if you do not unlock my door in 30 seconds and leave my office, I will be forced to call Security and have you escorted from the lab."

"I'll take my chances." He leaned in close enough that she could feel his breath on her face. "They'd have to get in first, anyway."

"Security has the keys to every office and lab in the building," she pointed out, reaching for the phone.

His hand shot out and gripped her wrist. "Nope, Bones. I said we're going to talk and we will. Then, if you still want, I will leave. Now. What. Are. You. Thinking?"

"Let go of me, Booth. Brute force is not effective in acquiring answers from me." His grip merely tightened.

"This isn't brute force, Bones. Trust me, you would know if I did use it. Again--why and where and when? And how did you get clearance from my boss?"

"Why would I need that?" she inquired acidly. "I'm _merely _a contractor for the FBI, albeit with a unique set of skills. _My _employer is the Jeffersonian, and the Jeffersonian is the entity that approves my time away from the lab. The various agencies the lab works with have nothing to say about it. Not to mention we have no open cases and no pending court appearances. I'm hardly leaving you in the lurch, I believe the term is." Her eyes narrowed. "Actually, don't tell me if I've gotten it wrong. I don't really care.

"And why the concern, Booth? I am replaceable. You don't even have to go Montreal anymore, since Clark's here."

"He's not as good as you are. And I don't understand how you can simply decide to disappear for _nine damn months_ without warning me! We're partners, Bones! I thought we talked about things…"

"So did I," she murmured, leaning away from him. "Let go of me, Booth," she said in a louder tone, but his hand simply tightened again.

"Not until we talk, Bones." His eyes darkened even further as he leaned further in. And since he didn't let go of her, she had no compunctions about what she did next.

***************************************

She shot to her feet, surprising him, and jabbed stiffened fingers just above his elbow, forcing him to loosen his grip at the same time. She followed that with a swift hit to his solar plexus, and when he started to double over, her knee hit him high on the upper thigh, deliberately missing anything more sensitive by a mere inch.

He fell, gasping in shock. She had never turned her martial skills on him before. Threatened him, yes. Followed through--no.

She stepped over him, unlocked the door, then paused in the doorway. Her eyes were a shade he hadn't seen before as she looked him over as coolly as she did remains on her table. "Get a clue, _Buttercup_," she said before leaving.

He pushed himself into a sitting position on the floor, and then onto her couch, mind whirling. He had gotten no answers from her--no explanations for leaving, no reason for freezing him out. The last time she had been like this was when he didn't stop Zack from going to Iraq. But there had been nothing like that recently.

His thoughts tumbled over the last real discussion they had had. Sure, he had teased her about her date, but that wasn't new--he always did. She got defensive sometimes, but… He racked his brain--again--trying to figure out what was wrong, what he could have done to cause this distance. He doubted Max could help, assuming the man didn't hurt him first, and he already knew Angela wouldn't. He was desperate enough to ask Parker, but his son acted as though nothing had changed--and maybe nothing had, for him.

What had she said that day?

"_No. Not one more word. I don't want to hear it, Booth. It's all empty promises and meaningless words. Eventually. Someday. Someone for everyone. No. It's not going to happen and I'm tired of hearing otherwise."_

Why had that set her off? He only intended to comfort her, assure her that she wouldn't always be alone. He thought she knew him well enough to see that _he _believed it was true. Once, he had been sure that Rebecca had been his own someone. Well, she hadn't, but there was someone out there for him as well. He was still waiting on his own someday. But he had faith it would come.

Maybe that was the problem. Bones was not big on faith.

What else?

"_Bones. What's wrong? What did I do?" "Nothing. It's not important."_

He hadn't quite seen it at the time, but that was when the walls started to go back up. If he wanted to get all geeky, he could say it was almost like a Star Wars or Star Trek force field, isolating and impenetrable.

_Get a clue, Buttercup_, her parting shot of today echoed. Buttercup? Why did that sound familiar? Something was uncurling in the back of his mind; he knew better than to force it, though. The only thing he could be sure of was she didn't mean the flower. Well, that, and it wasn't an insult…exactly. Bones tended towards more polysyllabic and/or anthropological terms, like, oh, _insufferable alpha male._

Maybe he was looking at it from the wrong angle. Sure, she had been exploring emotions, but her true north was science, rationality, facts, logic. Even though he wasn't as much of an idiot as he sometimes pretended to be, he knew he could never make his way through her thought process. It was too complex and labyrinthine.

He buried his face in his hands. "What am I going to do?"


	6. Things fall apart…

Note: these scenes are spread out over the course of a week.

_(and shame on me: in my rush, I nearly forgot to mention that blc gave me some ideas to use as a springboard for this chapter! [Kowtows several times.] Forgive me!)_

* * *

Brennan studied her reflection as she put herself to rights. She had to admit that had felt wonderful, even if it was Booth that she had beaten on. Not enough time at the gym, to release those endorphins, she decided. And she didn't get much of a chance to do that to a suspect these days. Booth's fault, too!

What she couldn't decide was if she should have given him even that faint hint. But she had realized later that her reference to Angela that day was actually inaccurate. Booth wasn't the farm boy--she was. Saying things, hoping the underlying meaning would be apparent. She grimaced at the mirror. "Evidently, I've been more inculcated in certain cultural mores than I realized," she said out loud.

"Talking to yourself is one of the classic signs of insanity, sweetie," Angela said, peeking around the door to the ladies' room. "Are you all right?"

"Fine, Ange. Why?"

"Well, we all heard Idiot-boy yelling at you. Then he locked the door and dropped the blinds so we couldn't see if everything was OK. I just thought I should make sure…" her friend's voice trailed off uncertainly.

"Booth's the one nursing bruises," Brennan said, just a little smugly. She straightened her shirt.

"Oh, Bren--you didn't! You did! Oh!" Angela fell back on the fainting couch, eyes wide. "You have to tell me all about it!"

So she did--all of it, right down to her last, cryptic line. "I couldn't resist dropping one last hint."

"Pretty subtle, but that's you all over. And that's assuming he's read the book or watched the movie," Angela pointed out.

"He has the movie; Parker mentioned it one day."

Angela grinned.

"If he gets it, that's all good and well."

"Well and good, sweetie. And if he doesn't?"

"I haven't decided. I'm going to think about it while I'm away. Do I want to stay partners with a man I'm still in love with and who doesn't feel that way about me; or should I--hmm--cut my losses now and be done with it?"

"Yeah, that pretty much sums it up. How did he find out, by the way?"

"Cam, I guess. Though I don't know if she emailed him directly or his boss told him."

"Well, they are friends," Angela conceded.

Brennan shrugged and pulled on the lab coat she had managed to snag on her way out of the office. "I'll be in Limbo." She stopped in the door, struck by a sudden thought. "Make sure Booth is out of my office by the end of the work day, would you, Ange?"

"As you wish." They both laughed as they parted.

****************************

"Dr. Brennan?"

"Dr. Sweets." Her voice was cool, but at least she was acknowledging his presence.

"Um…you haven't been coming in the last few weeks to our sessions."

"That would be correct, Dr. Sweets."

"I would like to know why. I mean, I got your message, but I can tell there's more to it."

"Because I will not be working with the FBI nor Agent Booth for the next several months. I saw no point in participating in team or couples' therapy when I am no longer part of said team, even temporarily."

"Yes…I heard you were going on sabbatical. Booth's rather upset." That was an understatement. The man had reportedly broken the hand drier in the men's washroom on his floor before rushing out of the Hoover altogether. And after he came back, he had been dangerously broody. The dice he sometimes played with--well, you could actually hear them click together now.

She simply kept her face impassive.

"But why didn't you mention it? To Booth, or to me in one of our sessions?"

"Sweets, I only participated in those because originally I was told it was the only way to maintain the partnership. I've never hidden my opinions about psychology and psychotherapy; I don't understand how it's a surprise to you, now that I have in fact withdrawn from field work in preparation for my trip, that I have declined to attend any more. We are not even technically your patients anymore, as I recall. So you have nothing to say about it. And if that messes up your book, I'm…sorry," she added, plainly as a matter of form.

"Well, it was almost done…" He shook his head. "Look, Dr. Brennan, I know how you feel about psychology--you've been more than open about it--but really, this seems a sudden decision. I have to think there must be more to it than you're saying."

"Why must there?" she asked, almost idly.

"Well, it's completely obvious how you feel about Agent Booth," he pointed out, missing her sudden tenseness. "And for you to leave him for an extended period is quite out of character."

"Tell me, Sweets," she cut in. "I'm apparently an open book to you, but what about Booth? Is he so--readable?"

"What?"

"It's a simple question. How does Booth feel about me? Use your so-called insights into the intangible enigma of human behavior and answer that."

"Dr. Brennan--"

"And don't feed me that line that it's up to Booth to share." As he stared at her, gape-mouthed, she continued, still in that cutting voice. "I think you're running another experiment, Sweets."

He paled, feeling sweat pop out on his brow. "Absolutely not, Dr. Brennan! I swear!"

She narrowed her eyes, then apparently decided he was telling the truth. "Very well. Than answer my question. If it's so obvious how I feel about Booth, then how does he feel about _me_?"

He was silent and she nodded, lips twisted bitterly. "I thought as much. You know, Sweets, if you weren't so obsessed with things that don't really matter, you might see have seen how we had gotten…unbalanced. I would have thought it was your job to keep us on the same level, for the sake of the partnership if nothing else. But you didn't really see what was in front of you. And not for the first time." She shook her head. "So, I'll make it clear, Dr. Sweets. The last time you'll have to observe patient confidentiality with me. Yes, I love Booth. No, he doesn't love me and never has so far as I can tell. And I cannot work that way any longer." She looked pensive. "He's ignored the hints I've dropped, the admittedly veiled suggestions. Did he think I talked about sex just to embarrass him?"

"You could have said something to him, Dr. Brennan," Sweets pointed out, common sense coming to the fore. "My parents always said that sort of thing was a two-way street."

She shook her head with a wry smile, making him realize that she was being more open with him than she had been the entire time he had worked with them. "So did mine. But it was his line, and I didn't feel I could cross it if he wasn't welcoming the move. We just walk along parallel lines and I'm tired of it. I realized I needed a break, to decide what I want to do, what must be done."

"I--see." And he did. Both Booth and Brennan were extremely self-contained personalities, but he had caught that crack in her façade after the death metal case. He _had _been watching for something like that after his conversation with Dr. Wyatt, but had expected it from Booth, if anyone.

Now, he nodded understanding. "May I ask, Dr. Brennan, what exactly was said to trigger this revelation? If you don't mind telling me, that is."

"Ask Booth," she said simply.

He nodded again. Plainly, she wanted Booth to figure it out. "All right, Dr. Brennan. I hope I'll see you when you return. Safe trip."

She merely inclined her head, every inch the true Queen of the Jeffersonian, he thought as he left. He was going to have to try and arrange some meetings with Agent Booth while she was gone. It seemed there were more issues involved than he had thought…

****************************

"Dr. Bones? Mr. Max said I should come see you?" Parker's voice wavered a little.

"Parker, hi. Yes, I did want to see you." When he neared her, she gave him a gentle hug. "Don't cry, bub."

"But you're going away! I don't want you to--I'll miss you!"

"I'll miss you too," she murmured back, arms tightening. "But it's something I want to do. And the people over there are happy I'm coming--they need me to help."

"How long will you be gone?"

"I don't know yet. The project's supposed to last nine months, but they might not need me the entire time."

He sniffled and rubbed his hand under his nose. "Nine months is a really long time," he said woefully. She chuckled and handed him a tissue.

"It is. But I have a present for you, though." She opened a drawer and pulled out a square flat box. Parker opened it, then looked puzzled as he lifted out a blue album.

"Look inside," she gently instructed. He opened it to reveal a page with two slots--one already with a card in it. "It's an album for post cards. If you like, I'll try to send you one every week, telling you a little about what I'm doing and where I am. And I already put in a Jeffersonian one to get you started. If you get any others, you can put them here, too." She bit her lip. "I know it's not as exciting as a video game."

"Will you really send me post cards?"

"Absolutely." She ruffled his curls.

"Cool! I like getting mail!" He grinned at her and she felt her heart twist. The boy was too much like his father, that was certain.

"Can I ask you something, Dr. Bones?"

"Anything, Parker. I'll answer you if I can."

"Are you mad at Daddy?"

"Wh--Why do you think that?"

"Wellllll, I haven't seen you with him very much, and he doesn't want to come to your office anymore when he picks me up, and you both look tired and sad, though Daddy sometimes looks mad, too. Mr. Max says when you're curious, you hafta study it from ev'ry angle and pay 'tention to changes before deciding. So I watched."

Brennan tried to smile. Booth would hate it that his son had studied them like they were lab rats. "It's hard to explain, Parker." She shooed him into one of her guest chairs and sat next to him. She took a deep breath and maintained eye contact. "Sometimes, sometimes, even good friends have problems and fights. And sometimes, they don't understand each other or listen."

"That's bad."

"It is. And sometimes, when there's a problem like that, it's best to back away for a little bit, so you don't get into worse fights and misunderstandings until you can talk about it calmly. Do you see what I mean?"

"Like when Dad tells me that sometimes you have to step away from a fight, 'less you're protecting someone?"

"Something like that, yes."

He nodded soberly. "What did you fight about?"

She closed her eyes. He would ask that. "We didn't exactly fight, Parker," she replied, opening her eyes and looking at him. "It's very hard to explain."

"Grown-up things," he said wisely.

"Yes. And maybe when I come back, we can fix things. But I have to step away now, because I don't want to fight with your father."

"Okay. I don't want you to fight with him either."

She laughed, surprised. Just then, they could hear Booth's voice. Parker slid off his chair, shoved the album in his backpack, and gave her a hug. "I hope you have fun, Dr. Bones," he said, looking her in the face.

She returned the hug. "Thank you. And you be good for your dad and mine, all right?"

"I will.." He trotted out the door and she looked up to see Booth staring at them--her--with a peculiar intensity. She just nodded at him and went back to work.

****************************

That night, she let herself into her apartment, locking up behind her, eyes on her mail, same routine as always.

"Bones."

She squeaked surprise and turned to face Booth.

"What is with you men, breaking into my apartment?" she demanded, remembering her father doing the exact same thing. "Is it some alpha-male thing?"

"I wanted to talk to you," he said simply. "And I knew you weren't going to come to me."

"Didn't we talk enough the other day?" she asked tartly. "Are you that anxious to acquire more bruises?"

"I didn't come to fight; I really did come to talk. Brought a bottle of your favorite wine," he coaxed.

"After all those promises and bribes about getting a gun, I don't respond well to such inducements any more," she told him bluntly. "It doesn't seem to get me anywhere. And I won't drink enough to speak carelessly, if that's what you're hoping."

"Not asking you to. But, please, Bones, sit and talk to me."

She dropped the mail on the counter, hung her coat up, then took a seat as far from him as she could get, ignoring the glass of wine he had poured. "Fine."

"Where are you going?"

She sighed and decided she might as well tell him that. "Greenland. Archeologists recently discovered a Norse colony there, dating from the late twelfth century. What happened to the Scandinavian settlements there has been a mystery for the last 600 years at least. They're hoping a thorough examination of the bones might reveal some answers."

He made a face. "Greenland? Isn't that kinda cold?"

"That's why I have winter gear, Booth," she retorted scornfully.

"Sorry. Sorry. But nine months?"

She simply regarded him silently. They had already covered that, so far as she was concerned. He took the hint.

"I want to know why you suddenly decided you had to do this. Why didn't you talk to me about it?"

She rose to her feet and walked away, uncertain of what to say. _Because unrequited love hurts? Because I'm in love with you but it will never go any further? Because I can't bear to see you every day without knowing what it's like to share a bed, feel your arms about me…see if I could understand on a personal level what you meant by making love?_

He followed her. "Bones. Talk to me. Please." As she continued to stare into the distance, he spun her about and backed her against the wall. "Look at me, damn it! Talk to me. We've always talked. Even when it was uncomfortable, we've talked."

She shook her head. "Some of the things you said made me realize I needed a change. And we wouldn't have talked; you'd have only flashed that damn smile at me and said more empty things to get me to stay. They're nice and all, but when they mean nothing, a person gets tired of hearing them."

"What empty things? I've never said anything nice to you that was meaningless!"

She stared at him, searched his eyes, sure her heart was in her eyes or some other romantic thing. He was the one person in the world she could read, and she saw nothing more than concern and friendship reflected there. "Let go of me, Booth. I've got nothing more to say." She really was done. Surrendering to the inevitable. It wasn't logical to fight a battle that couldn't be won. From what he had said, it was obvious he saw nothing between them save friendship. And when she wanted more…

Well, she had made the best decision after all. Take herself and her importunate desires far away. No point in laying that burden on his shoulders.

He tipped her face up, fingers gentle under her chin, and she wanted to cry. _Why _did he keep doing that? These soft gestures were going to do her in. "Bones. Answer me. What meaningless things have I said to you?"

"When you aren't saying _eventually _and _someday_," she snapped past the tightness in her throat, ignoring his question, "you're belittling me. I can't take any more of your ups and downs. One day you promise me a fairy tale and the next you're telling me I'll burn in hell!" Driven past endurance, she swung at him, but he caught her hand with a soft grunt.

"Not this time, Bones. You surprised me before, but now I'm ready for you." He shifted, pinning her so that she couldn't make the groin shot. "You're so violent sometimes." He grinned down at her, cocky again. "I like it, mind you. It's part of what makes you a good partner out there in the field."

She quivered under him, so close, _so close, soclose_… She strained upwards, thinking only of finally claiming a kiss, one where she wouldn't have to lie about its effects on her, one just him and her, in her apartment, just feet away from her bedroom. Surely if she could just…

But he misread her actions and hastily stepped back, freeing her, before she could make her move. Hurt and rejected, she stayed pressed against the wall, staring at him.

"God, I'm _sorry_, Bones. First I try to push you around in your office and now I manhandle you in your apartment. Maybe you should slap some sense into me."

"I'd say it's too late for that," she spat. "If it hasn't gotten through yet, it's not likely to now." She clenched her fists, pride now roused. He was an idiot, just like Angela said. "Perhaps you should just leave, Booth. Before either of us do something we regret."

"What? Come on, Bones, I said I'm sorry!"

"Not sorry for the right things," she hissed. "Go. Go now. Before I forget that we were partners and friends."

His eyes widened in shock, then hurt, but she set her jaw in its most stubborn line and pointed at the door. Slowly, he followed the direction of her finger. Hand on the doorknob, he tried again. "Bones…"

"No. Go. I don't want you here."

His shoulders sagged as he left. A lump rose in her throat even as she locked the door behind him. Booth was such a proud man; it hurt to see him like that, more to know she caused it. But she honestly couldn't take it another minute. Up and down; back and forth; to and fro--if she couldn't get some metaphoric firm ground under her equally metaphoric feet, she would go insane.

****************************

Angela and Hodgins took her to the airport the morning of her flight. She scanned the crowds, uncertain exactly what--or who--she was looking for.

"Air Iceland's at Gate Twenty," Angela said, having checked the boards already. "Sweetie? You in there?"

"Yeah, sorry, Ange. Just a little distracted."

"Booth?" It was sympathetically asked.

"Maybe…I guess I must have been subconsciously expecting him." She blew out a sigh. "Very irrational."

"All part of being human, as I've tried to tell you many times, Bren. Come on, now, let's go check you in. Boarding will be all too soon."

Which it was. Brennan hugged Angela, then Jack. "Thursdays. Remember that, all right, Ange?"

"How could I forget? Take care of yourself, sweetie. Enjoy your dead Vikings."

"Yeah, Dr. B. If you could bring me back some interesting samples, that'd be great!"

"I'll try." She smiled, hoisted her bag to her shoulder and walked onto the plane.

****************************

Unbeknownst to her, on her desk at the Jeffersonian was an envelope with a short note inside.

_Bones. I'm sorry. Safe trip and come back soon. Booth._

* * *

Whew. Writing these multi-viewpoints is harder than I thought.

Don't worry, friends & neighbors, tale's not over yet!


	7. …the centre cannot hold

Sorry for the delay. Apparently, my muse is much like the FBI--no negotiations with terrorists, even at knifepoint. (No, just talking out loud, trying to get some inspiration, while cutting up an apple--nothing drastic) Anyway, hope you like it!

And again, thanks to blc for the glacial earthquakes and inspiring my version of mopey Booth, plus the idea of Booth picking Parker up from those sessions with Max. ('fraid I borrowed that lock, stock, & barrel--but it does make sense!).

dani--the characters feel real to me, so I treat them as real for the most part.

* * *

"Brennan."

"Bren, it's Angela. I know you must have only just landed and all, but I found something in your office."

"What?"

"It looks like a note from Booth. What do you want me to do?"

Brennan sighed. "Read it to me."

There was a long moment of silence from both women once she did.

"Damn," Brennan whispered. "How _does _he do it?"

"I don't know, sweetie, I really don't. Do you want me to do anything?"

"What is there to do, Ange?"

"We may have to consider his real feelings are buried beneath years of denial and self-sacrifice," Angela said slowly. "But we can discuss that later; I just wanted to let you know about this."

"Please." She thought furiously for a few moments. "Just--tell him that you found the note after I left and I didn't see it."

"Can and will do."

"Thanks. And I had best go now. Talk to you Thursday, OK?"

"All right. Bye, sweetie."

***********************************

"Booth."

"Hey, G-Man."

"Angela? What's wrong? Something happen?" He couldn't help the panic in his voice.

"No, no, nothing's wrong. Calm down, Booth! I just wanted to tell you that I had to go into Bren's office for something and found an envelope with your handwriting on it."

"Wait--you mean she didn't come by the lab before leaving?"

"No, her flight was too early, and considering how early you have to be at the airport for international flights…" She sighed, probably rolling her eyes. "That's really the wrong side of 6am for me."

"Yeah." His heart took up residence near his stomach.

"Is it important? I could call and tell her," she offered. "Though, if you'd rather, it can wait until our scheduled call."

"N-no. That's all right. Don't bother her with it. Thanks, Angela. Look, I'll see you around, all right?" He disconnected in a hurry and stared at his desk. Now what? It hadn't been much of an apology, he knew, but he wanted her to know that he wanted to fix things if he could. If they could.

***********************************

The next two weeks were complete hell for Booth as he tried to adjust. He actually called her three times the first day alone, forgetting where she was; he had been genuinely shocked to receive her out of town message, and then remembered with a flurry of curses.

Walking into the diner was its own pain--no one across the table from him stealing fries or twitting him on his burger or pie, or sitting hip-to-hip with him at the counter for breakfast. After a week, he found he had a hard time just going in the place at all. When had the fun in eating pie become so tied up with Bones' refusal to eat any?

He kept looking to his right in the SUV, at the empty passenger seat, too. Why hadn't he realized he drove her so often?

And nights were the absolute worst--sitting alone in his apartment with a drink and mindless TV babble in the background. The first night, after making the last of the day's abortive calls, he set the phone down in the charger with excessive care and simply stared at it. Wondering how his entire (adult) social life had boiled down to Bones and maybe the Squints.

***********************************

Or at least he thought being alone at night was the worst thing…until he walked into the lab first time with a case. His feet carried him straight to Brennan's door, as always. But the sight of the closed and darkened office checked him. He hesitated for a moment, a surge of something he told himself he didn't have time to identify washing over him, then went in the opposite direction, looking for Cam.

"Hey," he said, sticking his head in her office.

"Seeley. What brings you to the Jeffersonian?"

"Where'd you stash Clark, Camille?"

"A case?" He held up the file silently and she nodded. "We put him over in Zack's old area for now, since Dr. Brennan assured me she will be back."

He grimaced; he couldn't help it and apparently couldn't hide it either, as she came round the desk to stand in front of him.

"Seeley, I don't know what happened or what you might have done, but you'd best think about how to mend things."

"If I knew, Camille, I would."

She shook her head. "Idiot," she muttered just as he walked out the door. He looked back at her, but she had already turned away.

He collected Clark and drove to the scene. It felt wrong. All of it. Everything.

But he tried. God knew, he tried. He talked to the witnesses, listened to Clark's explanation, made notes, just as he always did.

But it just wasn't right!

And it only got worse when they brought the body back. The Squints all froze him out, except for Clark, who barely knew him. Not that things hadn't been...off before, but now it was considerably less subtle. Professionally, they were perfectly correct, withholding nothing, but the camaraderie was gone. Even in the beginning things hadn't been so tense, not even when he dissed them during the Eller case.

***********************************

The perfect topper to the whole rotten adjustment period came when Cullen informed him he would have to see Sweets for a while. "Booth, you're off your game," the Deputy Director said kindly. "I can't have one of my best agents permanently derailed. For all intents and purposes you've lost your partner, even if it is just temporarily. Besides the obvious feeling of loss, I want you to keep up your skills and moping about like this isn't going to work."

"Sir--!" Booth started to protest.

"No, Booth, this is non-negotiable. It's an hour a week, that's all."

"For how long, sir?" Booth asked, slumping into the chair. They had just gotten free of Sweets' poking and prodding and here he was going to have to sit through it _again_.

"Until he clears you or Dr. Brennan comes back."

Booth suppressed a groan with great difficulty. "Yes, sir."

***********************************

"What's that, Parker?" Booth asked, seeing the book his son was showing Max several weeks later.

"Postcards, Daddy. Dr. Bones gave me the album and sends me cards to put inside."

"Really?" He ignored the look on Max's face as he looked over their shoulders. His mouth twitched; she had managed to find one with a cartoon Viking on the front as well as ones of a glacier, a city, and some sort of bird.

"Uh-huh."

"Well, you'll have to show me later tonight, OK, bub?"

"Sure, Daddy."

After Parker went to bed, Booth reopened the album. Trust Bones to do something like this! Who else would send cards filled with educational snippets to a child not even related to her? And even better, have the child like it? He had long ago decided the reason she said she was no good with kids was mostly because _she _was uncomfortable with them. The children and adolescents they had dealt with over the course of their cases had taken to her quite easily, even if she couldn't see it. And Parker, of course…

He slid out the first card, the one of the capital, and read the back.

_I arrived yesterday. Greenland's very different from home. And despite its name, it's not very green at all. In fact, most of the country is under ice--though some areas close to the sea are green during the summer. The man who officially discovered Greenland over 1000 years ago is believed to have given it that name to trick people into living here. It sounds more appealing, doesn't it? And the weather was different then, too, so there probably was a little more green than now._

She had actually signed it _Bones_. His mouth twitched. How she had fought that name in the beginning! And now, she was actually using it on her own. At least with Parker and himself.

He slid it back and, turning the page, picked another at random.

_I said last time that there's a lot of ice here. I'm actually working next to a glacier. And summer may be coming, but here it's a very short season. We're still wearing long sleeves & I know I won't be wearing shorts and sandals any time soon. The daffodils in DC had already bloomed and were done when I left. They don't even grow here, but if they did, they would just now be starting._

He flinched. She wasn't looking for sympathy or anything, he could tell, but something behind that simple statement bothered him. Maybe it was just that he knew they were her favorite flowers.

He picked another card at random, showing ice floes and water at sunset.

_We had a small scare yesterday. Our instruments showed there had been a little earthquake. None of us felt it, it was that small, but we were worried about our digging. It was something called a glacial earthquake. Glaciers move so slow & usually melt even slower, but once in a while, during summer or during a warming period, they can melt a little more & thus move faster. And when they do, they trigger tiny earthquakes. Happily, no one was hurt & our site is undamaged._

He had a brief flash of panic, remembering the earthquake he had once been in, while working in Guatemala. The sensation of otherwise firm ground suddenly moving under him was something he'd rather not repeat, and his stomach clenched at the thought of Bones at the epicenter of one.

He read it again. _No one was hurt; none of us felt it…too small_. He relaxed a little--but he was going to look up glacial earthquakes, just to be sure she wasn't downplaying the danger--and chose another card: the cartoon Viking.

_I'm afraid we haven't found any Vikings like you're thinking of. Vikings were explorers & warriors & traders from Scandinavia, but there were farmers & priests & artisans just like any people at the time. Those are the ones we're finding. I suppose it is rather sad; we __think __they tried to live like they did at home, but the land stopped supporting that way of life. Not many trees to build with, the farms weren't able to produce as much food, & even the hunting grew harder. People near the sea did better, we think, because they could fish at least. tbc…_

So Bones. Never deviating from the truth, always honest, even to the point of admitting uncertainty. It sounded as though Parker was talking to her or passing on messages, too. How was he managing that? She had written _tbc_; more of the lecture coming? Curious, he pulled out the next card.

_(cont) When the weather changed & it got colder, even ships had a hard time getting through the ice, so their families & friends couldn't send supplies. The last written record dates from 1408 CE. No one really knows what happened afterwards--that's why we're here. We can see what they owned when they died; and I can see in the bones if they died because they were badly sick, starving, or were in an accident or fight. That's how I help your dad, too, but learning what happened a long time ago can be as important as knowing what happened yesterday. If you know what happened, you can usually prepare for it happening again._

He wondered what Rebecca thought of all this. No matter how delicately Bones phrased things (and for her, this _was_ delicate), it was still her looking at ancient skeletons and talking about how they died.

He sat back against the couch, flipping through the album. It looked as though she sent at least one a week, and had made an effort to find interesting or vivid pictures. He supposed he shouldn't be reading them--they were Parker's, after all, and once in the album, they became more private. But he couldn't help himself. After missing her so much, this was something he _needed_.

_Angela said you were curious about the man who discovered Greenland. His name was Eric the Red & if he lived now, he might be one of the people your dad puts in jail. Instead of going to jail, he was banished. So he took his boat & went exploring. When his exile was over, he came back & found people who wanted to try & live here. His son, Leif Ericson, is believed to have found what is now Canada in 1000 CE._

Well, that answered one question. He had been so busy moping about that he hadn't noticed exactly how close Parker was getting to the Squints, and before that, absorbed with his cases. He knew and trusted that Bones was helping Parker, keeping an eye on her dad at the same time, but this was all of them. God help him, but he was going to end up with a squint-son. He grinned suddenly. It didn't bother him a bit!

_When you get close to the North Pole, the summer days are even longer than they are in DC. In the winter, the reverse is true, & the nights are very long. In fact, this far north, there is little or no sun at all in winter depending on where you are. I was told that moonlight and the Aurora Borealis sometimes makes up for it, reflecting off the snow. In the summer, there is no night, & sometimes it's called the Land of the Midnight Sun. Though they're often referring to more places than just Greenland. Before you ask, our tents have special liners so we can sleep._

He snorted; she knew his son and his twelve billion questions very well.

_I wish you could have seen what I saw last night! It was the longest day of the year, the Summer Solstice, & I told you about the longer days. There's a little valley I like to go to near the dig when I have time, & last night, I watched the sun set, but all it did was go behind a hill. I could see the sun's glow move from west to east, & not more than 30 minutes later, the sun was out again. I tried to film it with my phone, & I hope it comes out all right. It was amazing!_

He wondered if she had sent it to Angela. He could see Parker loving every minute; hell, he wouldn't mind seeing something like that himself. Finally he closed the album and set it next to Parker's backpack just where he had found it. Guilt was beginning to plague him for reading them without asking.

***********************************

Sweets studied Agent Booth surreptitiously over the file he was reading. He had risked a bit, telling Cullen he should still see Booth, now that Dr. Brennan had, for all intents and purposes, left him. But Cullen had simply nodded knowingly and made it an official order.

Of course, that had meant a sulking man in his office every week, but as he frequently reminded himself, he had asked for it. And he had learned a few things, too. He made an effort to not speak with his hands, and had decided against roleplay from the start. No point in agitating Booth further than necessary.

And somehow, there had been some profound changes in Agent Booth. The man who hated to be left in silence and could be counted on to start talking if no one else said anything, even if it was just insults and taunts, was silent more often than not during their sessions. And Sweets let him, offering the usual greetings, ask if there was anything new or anything to be said, and if not, kept his own mouth shut.

Both Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth would laugh if he mentioned his own instinct, but he had a feeling something would break pretty soon. But if he rushed it…either it wouldn't happen or it would be destructive. Sweets wasn't sure what would be worse.

"Tell me, Sweets," Booth finally said, squeezing the little stress ball. "You see Parker, too?"

"Your son? No, not at all, Agent Booth. Unless I'm at the Jeffersonian near the end of the day." He hesitated, thinking. "He's usually with Dr. Brennan's father, if I'm not mistaken." And just why did he ask _that_?

"I just found out Bones has been sending Parker postcards from her dig."

"That's…very thoughtful of her," Sweets murmured.

"And that the Squints are spending a lot of time with him, too. I was just wondering if you were another one of them."

_Them_? That could be dangerous ground. "No. If you'd like, I could--"

"No! Better a son who's a squint than a shrink." Booth set down the little ball with exaggerated care. "No offense, Sweets, but I can only take one person analyzing me at a time, and never at home."

"Of course. What sort of cards is Dr. Brennan sending?"

"Just the basic stuff--scenery, animals, plants, occasionally a humorous one."

"The usual," he nodded. "Have you had a chance to read them? I'm assuming that they go to your son at his mother's house, since you just found out. How does she feel about them?"

"I don't know to your last question." Booth jumped to his feet and began pacing. "Friday I walked in on Parker showing an album of them to Max. That was the first I knew of it."

"You read them." Not a question--he was sure that Booth had. His partner had been gone for just over three months at this point and so far as Sweets knew, there had been no contact between them.

Booth stopped pacing. "Yes," he said through gritted teeth. "I invaded my son's privacy and possibly Bones', too, but yes, I read them."

"Postcards are by nature more public than any other sort of mail," Sweets pointed out, trying to soothe him. "They were read several times before Parker even saw one."

"That's when they're out in the open, not tucked nicely into an album like baseball cards!"

"That's not all that's bothering you, Agent Booth. I understand your distress at presumably having violated your son's privacy, but you know as a father that children have a limited amount of it. I also cannot imagine that he wouldn't have let you read them. But if you ask next time, it might ease your conscience."

Booth grumbled something unintelligible, before adding in a louder voice, "How much longer, Sweets? I have to go pick up Parker from the lab when we're done."

Sweets checked his alarm. "Only five minutes, Agent Booth, so you might as well go now. See you next week."

* * *

No idea if the thing about tent liners is true, but it seemed reasonable. Same for any mentions of the actual dig. While I did my research about Greenland and Norse settlements, any and all errors are mine, as they say.

Titles for ch 6 & 7 come from the poem below…

_The Second Coming--William Butler Yeats_

_Turning and turning in the widening gyre  
__The falcon cannot hear the falconer;  
__Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;  
__Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,  
__The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere  
__The ceremony of innocence is drowned;  
__The best lack all conviction, while the worst  
__Are full of passionate intensity._

_Surely some revelation is at hand;  
__Surely the Second Coming is at hand.  
__The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out  
__When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi  
__Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert  
__A shape with lion body and the head of a man,  
__A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,  
__Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it  
__Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.  
__The darkness drops again; but now I know  
__That twenty centuries of stony sleep  
__Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,  
__And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,  
__Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?_


	8. Revelation

I have a phrase in Greenlandic (Kalaallisut) in here. Apologies if I don't have it quite right. You can't entirely trust online translators.

* * *

"I still don't understand," Booth grumbled the next week.

"About Dr. Brennan?" Sweets asked, knowing perfectly well the answer was "yes." He had felt honored beyond words that she had confided in him, even if she had also managed to invoke doctor/patient confidentiality. But as he saw it, she had also given him indirect permission to guide Booth.

He stifled a sigh. He could only nudge Booth along; the agent would have to make his own way through this. Even if he could tell Booth flat out what was wrong, he knew the older man wouldn't believe him. No matter that the entire world could see it. The only way Booth would see it was if he came to that conclusion on his own.

"I just have one question for you to think about, Agent Booth. You insist the two of you were fine, are fine. But if you are indeed fine, why would she have left the way she did? Put yourself in her head. Something was bothering her. It was totally obvious." The time for silence was over; Booth had stepped across _that _line, at least.

"Yeah, it was, but she wouldn't talk about it, wouldn't talk to me--"

"All right--that's another part of the question. Why, considering your past history, do you think she didn't feel comfortable telling you? The two of you talk about almost everything. You've coaxed things out of her the she likely wouldn't have told anyone else."

Booth looked--contemplative?--but said nothing, leaning back against the couch.

"Why don't you tell me what happened the day everything changed?" Sweets urged. "Maybe it will suggest a course of action."

"Nothing that hasn't happened before. Lunch; she had been on a date, so we talked about that…"

"You mean you ragged on her about it," Sweets interrupted. "You do that a lot."

Booth flushed.

"Go on."

He recounted it, frowning--no, not frowning. _Concentrating_, on something just out of reach.

Sweets listened, nodding. Now he understood completely how Dr. Brennan had hit her boiling point. How many times had he himself heard Booth say things like that in this very office, and then back away? More than ever, he was determined to help fix this. What was that quote? "The course of true love ne'er did run smooth." His professor had suggested that was how you knew it was true love--it _didn't _run smoothly because true love never did.

His alarm buzzed quietly not long after Booth finished. "Agent Booth--time's up. I want you to think about this over the next few days." He struggled not to show either enthusiasm or sympathy. "You seem very close to some sort of realization here, and I don't want you to lose it. Call if you feel the need to talk further before our next appointment. My door is always open to you--unless of course I have another patient in here." His slight attempt at a joke fell as flat as he had expected.

"Right. Thanks, Sweets." And he was out the door.

***********************************

"Parker's still here," Angela told Brennan. "Booth left word that he was running a little late, and your dad agreed to watch him. Would you like to talk to him? Parker, that is?"

"That was nice of Dad. And yes, I would, if he wants to."

"Sweetie, you have _no _idea." She picked up the phone and made the request.

"Anything else new, Ange?"

"Not really. Nothing professional, anyway. Jack and I are talking more seriously about things. It's hard to think of the future, you know." Angela sighed, resting her chin in her hand. "But I'm trying. And he's being really patient with me."

"I think it's good you're taking the time, though. The two of you made a great couple. And will again, I'm sure of it."

The sound of Parker's running feet prevented her from answering.

"Dr. Bones? Dr. Bones!"

"Hi, Parker! _Qanoq ippit_?" She smiled at his confusion. "That's how they say 'how are you' here."

"I'm good," he said enthusiastically. "We 'sperimented with dry ice today. Soooo cool!"

"Wow."

"And Dr. Jack helped us. You hafta be careful with dry ice," he told her solemnly.

"That's true," she agreed with equal solemnity.

Angela watched and listened. Bren was happier and more relaxed than she had been in quite a while, doing what she loved to do. Her eyes sparkled and her smiles were a little readier. Even before talking to Parker. The trip was good for her, that was for sure, even if everyone missed her.

"I'm spending a long weekend with Daddy," Parker was saying when she brought her attention back. Was that a faint dimming of her friend's spirits?

"That sounds like fun. What are you doing tonight?"

"Pizza and a movie. I get to pick it out, too," he boasted.

Yes, her smile was a little less vibrant. Barely noticeable, unless you knew her.

"You know, Parker, you could just call me Bones like your dad does," Brennan said. That was random, Angela thought.

"Would that be OK? Mommy says I should be polite and call people Mr. or Miss or Dr."

"I give you special permission, Parker, to call me Bones. But if it bothers your Mom, you can call me Dr. Bones in front of her."

Angela laughed. "That is pretty special, Parker. No one else can call her that, you know?"

"Though many have tried," Brennan with a wry expression. "What else is new, Parker?"

"Mommy and Brent took me to the 'musement park, and Daddy took me camping. And I'm going to try out for junior football in the fall; Mom said I could. Will you come to my games?"

"Of course, if you want. Maybe Miss Angie and Dr. Jack will come, too?"

"Sure," Angela said, still smiling.

As Parker prattled on some more, this time asking questions about Greenland and glaciers and polar bears, Angela caught movement outside her office. She eased to her feet as Bren moved her laptop to show him the glacier in the distance.

"Thought that was you, Booth," Angela murmured, standing in her door. "Parker's in here."

"Max said." He slid past her then froze as Brennan's laugh carried across the room.

"I was going to tell you," Angela said innocently.

"Uh-huh." He took a deep breath and strode into view of the webcam.

"Hi, Daddy." Parker hugged him briefly. "Bones was telling me all about Greenland and glaciers…"

"…and Vikings and the Aurora Borealis," she finished with a soft chuckle. "How are you, Booth?"

"About the same, Bones," he said, forcing an ease he plainly didn't feel. "Nothing much has changed. Just working cases, you know? Still murderers around, after all."

"I trust Clark has been a suitable substitute?"

"He has. Got a ways to go before he's as good as you, yeah, but he's all right." He paused, and Angela held her breath. "Nice of you to send Parker those cards."

"Oh, it was no problem at all," she responded.

"Parks, why don't you go get your bag so when Bones has to get back to work, we can head out, too."

"OK, Daddy. You'll wait for me to come back, Bones?"

"Of course, Parker. Go on and get your things and tell my dad I'll talk to him next time, all right?"

"All right!" He pelted out of the office, past Angela still at the door.

"So you're sending _my _son postcards?" Booth asked, leaning in toward the computer, something dangerous edging his voice, with a touch of what Angela read as jealousy. "Why?"

"Because Parker is a charming and intelligent child, and _you _asked me to aid in his education, his enrichment. I keep my promises, Booth!" The same edge was in Brennan's voice, and Angela watched in amazement as Booth immediately backed down.

"Of course you do, Bones, I didn't mean…"

"I suppose you didn't," she sighed.

"Tell me about the dig, Bones?" he asked, trying to make it up to her.

"It's an international crew; mostly Danish and Norwegian, but some English and Canadians and one Russian."

"You the only American, then?"

"There is someone else here from the United States," she said primly. "No Viking hoards, and no paradigm shifting finds, however."

"That's a pity. I know you'd really like to be in on something like that."

Parker arrived then, bag over one shoulder. Angela didn't know if she should bless or curse his timing; it had saved her earlier, but now cut off what could have been a most interesting chat.

There was a few more minutes of desultory conversation before father and son took their leave, Parker happily telling Booth all about his day, oblivious to the currents swirling about underfoot.

"Ange…" Bren asked, smile fading and eyes dark. "Is there something wrong with Booth?"

"Nothing physical, sweetie. I think he misses you."

Brennan bit her lip. "Really? The way… He really didn't seem happy about the postcards. And he barely smiled…"

"I think his world turned upside down and he's still trying to deal. His partner left, his son loves hanging out with us Squints… I don't think he realized until recently how much Parker likes being at the lab with us. He's even more of a charmer than his father."

"Children have a natural charm, exemplified by large eyes and--"

"Yes, yes, sweetie, I'm sure. It's actually kind of hard for us to not show any favoritism when we're working with Max's classes. Even Cam."

***********************************

"So, what movie do you want to watch, bub?" Booth asked, locking the door behind him and Parker.

"I don't know yet, Daddy. Can we have pepperoni and sausage and extra cheese on the pizza?"

He had to grin, despite the lingering pang from seeing Bones. He didn't know how she could twist him in knots, just being herself and so sweetly generous to his son. She certainly hadn't deserved that jab about the postcards. "Why not. Go pick a movie while I call, all right?"

"Sure, Dad." Parker bounded off to sort through the DVDs.

When he came into the living room, Parker was studying a DVD case. "We haven't watched this in a long time. Can we watch it again?"

He smiled as he looked at it. "Why not?" He put it in and they settled on the couch to watch. On the screen, the grandfather began to read…

"…_That day she was amazed to discover that when he was saying 'as you wish,' what he meant was 'I love you.' And even more amazing was the day she realized she truly loved him back…"_

Booth suddenly jerked, as though jabbed with a pin. Parker looked up at him curiously.

_Get a clue, Buttercup_. This time the remark was laced with venom. Buttercup; as you wish… The thoughts tumbled together and finally clicked.

My God, he thought numbly. Buttercup. I'm an idiot.

"What's wrong, Daddy?"

"Wha--nothing, bub, nothing."

The pizza arrived and he paid for it, then set out plates and glasses in a daze. Things were falling into place rapidly. Sweets' questions, Bones' own words, the squints' distancing themselves, even Max's more careful than usual conversation…

I really am an idiot, he thought as he put a couple slices on Parker's plate and opened a soda for him. God, please don't let me have screwed this up past fixing!

He snagged himself a beer, then joined Parker back in front of the TV. And as much as he enjoyed the movie, the only part he paid real attention to was the sword fight on the cliff. Well, that and Parker's gleeful cackle when Vizzini said _"Do you want me to send you back to where you were, _unemployed _in _Greenland_?"_

He managed to pull himself back together by the time the movie ended--not for anyone would he screw up time with his son!

Once Parker was safely tucked into bed promptly at nine--and thank God he slept heavily--Booth paced about the apartment. Thirteen steps through the living room, 10 though the kitchen, and 23 back to the hall again.

Bones--she had looked wonderful this afternoon. The brilliant light in her eyes--when was the last time he had seen that? The trip to China, that was it. The intensity and excitement she had displayed had worried him even then that she wouldn't want to keep working with him. And now, it was all in doubt again and it was all his fault!

Maybe not all his fault--he had tried to talk to her about it! He set his shoulders stubbornly as he turned. _She _had refused to talk to him! Why couldn't she have told him?

Because she knew better, a voice deep inside him pointed out.

"_And we wouldn't have talked; you'd have only flashed that damn smile at me and said more empty things to get me to stay. They're nice and all, but when they mean nothing, a person gets tired of hearing them."_

He wanted to say it wasn't true, that he had meant every word--he had--but realized that perception was key. If she thought they were empty, well, then, they were--for her.

Empty things…

"_When you aren't saying _eventually _and _someday_, you're belittling me. I can't take any more of your ups and downs. One day you promise me a fairy tale and the next you're telling me I'll burn in hell!" _

He winced; yeah, that had been completely uncalled for. He wasn't sure exactly where that had come from. He was an old-fashioned Catholic, thanks to his grandparents, and presented with such a sight, with all those other people gazing reverently at it, he must have succumbed briefly to the atmosphere and old training. But she was one of the best people he knew, and if Bones wasn't permitted in Heaven, he didn't want to be there, either.

He shook his head; he was getting off track. He would apologize for it, though, the minute he got a chance.

What had Sweets said? _"But if you are indeed fine, why would she have left the way she did? Put yourself in her head."_

Like that was possible.

He pivoted again. Why would she think those were empty promises? That was the question.

What had he said to her that time in Sweets' office? _"There is someone for everyone. Someone you're meant to spend the rest of your life with. Alright? You just have to be open enough to see it. That's all_._"_ And she had looked at him, given him one of those unfathomable looks, not her usual considering one, but one as though she desperately wanted to believe him. Actually not too far off from when she had come over and drank his scotch and wished she could believe…in…love.

His knees gave out; fortunately, he was next to one of the kitchen chairs, saving him from landing on the floor. "She--I--she wants--wanted--_me_," he whispered. "How--" He sucked in a long breath. "Why didn't I see that?"

He had no idea how long he stared vacantly at the fridge, lost in that thought. But once he grew accustomed to it, he began to pace again. What of himself? How did he feel?

If he didn't return her feelings, he had a huge decision to make. Stay on with the best partner (and friend! that little voice reminded him) a man ever had, and let her suffer in silence like he had been doing, or end the partnership altogether, probably hurting her even more. He had promised to never betray her, never leave her. Ending everything would break his word, and like her, he kept his promises. Or tried to. But letting things go on as they were wasn't right, either.

He worked his way back over their partnership slowly--Ian, Mark-and-Jason, Sully, David, even Harry Tepper and Charlie for cryin' out loud…how he had reacted to every one of them. Every time someone had expressed an interest in her, gotten too close, or she had smiled too warmly in response--he had a surge of, what, jealousy? anger? fear? He had refused to admit it, shoved it down every time; after all, what business was it of his how his _work _partner handled her social life? But why else would he care how many men she danced with in Aurora, or that she dated two men at once? Or not advised Sully when he asked for help?

Did that make it love?

(The fact that he did feel badly for her when something went wrong didn't alleviate it much. Even--or especially--when he had been in the center of it. No wonder everyone thought they were involved!)

He thought about Vegas, Halloween, kidnappings, Christmas trees, the circus. Of late night drinking sessions, access cards, and earrings. The quiet comforting acceptance she provided when he really needed it, the gentle hand under his in a military cemetery.

Was that love?

And he thought about how it would be to never work with her again. To never swing by with take-out, bicker about all the familiar things, have her go all anthropological on him… He frowned. He didn't have to imagine it--he was living it, right now. And he had to say it sucked.

It all _felt _like love. So what to do now?

***********************************

_(a week or so later…however long it takes for a postcard to travel from an isolated dig in Greenland, to Washington, DC…)_

"Dad! I got another card from Bones!" Parker held it out. "Wanna read it? She asked about you."

"Sure." Booth took the card, hoping the shaking of his fingers wasn't obvious. The front was a polar bear; he flipped it over.

_So nice to see you the other day! I hope you enjoyed your time with your dad. Take care of him; he looks tired…_

He couldn't read any more. But something inside suddenly crystallized--he found he had made his decision after all.

* * *

A quick note: dialog quoted above is from, you guessed it, the movie _Princess Bride._ And I love that duel! Also, of course, Booth's speech from Man in the Outhouse. We'd all like to believe that!


	9. Looking for Absolution

You may thank blc for the extension of this story. Her advice was good, but it extended things a bit. Do I hear any complaints? (cups ear) None? Excellent! On with the story…

* * *

Brennan looked up from the most recently excavated skeleton. "Indications of malnourishment," she pointed out to Dr. Dinesen. There was someone standing outside the tent; not a member of the team. By now, she knew all their silhouettes. Actually, it reminded her of…

"What about marine food sources?" he said, disrupting her train of thought, and pulling her attention back to the bones. "We haven't found any traces of fish in the middens."

"True, but fish bones disintegrate much faster than other types of bones. There are other types of marine food sources, however, such as seal. Which I did find in the midden, along with some caribou. Interestingly enough, there are very few signs of domesticated cattle. The question might be more along the lines of how well the roads and trade routes operated for them. This site is quite distant from the sea." She flicked another glance up at the tent wall; nobody was there. She chided herself--she was being ridiculous!

"With the onset of the Little Ice Age, it's true that the roads might not be passable as long during the year," he agreed. "They must have had some contact--this is not exactly a seal's natural habitat. But if a wagon could navigate the paths, food preservation might not be an issue." He grinned at her and she had to laugh.

"So I can ignore any indications of food poisoning?"

He chuckled at that, appreciating her attempt at capping his joke.

"To be honest, we will have to wait for the isotope analysis. The research indicates that up to 80% of the people were being sustained by fish and other marine life forms by the end. These people are not likely to be very different," she said, coming back to the subject at hand.

"And no signs of, what is the phrase? Foul play?"

"None. Broken and carefully set bones, chipped or missing teeth, occasional amputation--probably from frostbite or possibly gangrene, at a guess. Impossible to say without the amputated limb, of course. But there are absolutely no indications of battle thus far."

"Dr. Brennan?" Clare said, sticking her head through the tent flap. "Sorry to interrupt, but there's somebody here to see you. When you have a moment, he's waiting near the visitors' tent."

"A visitor? I'm not expecting anyone," she murmured. "Tell him I'll be along in a few minutes. We were almost done here, weren't we, Joris?"

"Indeed, Temperance." He pulled the cover over the skeleton. "Go and see who it is. Hopefully, it's not another journalist."

"I think we managed to scare most of them off in the first month. And since we're not turning up a Viking burial, complete with gold torques, there hasn't been any further reason for them to come." She hesitated, still thinking about the skeleton rather than the visitor. "My estimate would be that this farm was defunct before 1400. _Without _help from the Inuit."

"I would agree," he said, making a note. "Of course, further testing will confirm or deny."

She stripped off her gloves and walked through the tents to where this visitor, whoever he was, waited. The wind had picked up and she shivered despite her jacket; pretty soon they would have to consider packing everything up and moving it to the lab in Nuut for full analysis.

She was listing off the necessary tests in her head and not paying much attention to the familiar path, when she rounded a corner and bounced right off someone. Someone very solid who emitted an all too recognizable grunt.

"Bones!"

She stared at him in shock. No. It couldn't possibly be. Seeley Booth, her erstwhile partner, here in a remote glacier meadow in Greenland, rather than in DC, where he belonged. "What are you doing here?" she blurted, feeling her stomach knot. No one had told her he was coming. She suddenly wanted to strangle Angela--the only person who could have told him exactly where she was.

"Glad to see you, too, Bones. Oh, no," he added, correctly reading her expression. "After I came all this way, you're not going to storm off." He caught her arm. "But I think we should be private. Is there any place like that around here?"

She laughed shortly. "We're in an isolated meadow near the glacier line of the least densely populated country in the world and you ask if we can be alone?"

"There's everyone else at this dig," he pointed out.

"Fine. Come on, then." She stomped off, all too aware of Booth behind her. She shoved her hands into her pockets when she felt them tighten into fists to match the knot in her stomach. But there was a tiny patch of warmth in there, too. She shoved it down. Nothing had changed. Surely nothing had changed…

**************************************

She led him to an empty field, studded with boulders presumably deposited by the glacier in previous eons. He had remembered that much from school, and even if he hadn't, Parker would have filled him in. He glanced to the north and saw a hill--probably the very same place she had watched the sun on the solstice.

"Why did you come, Booth?" The wind plucked at her and she shivered. He wanted to throw his jacket about her shoulders, but resisted the urge. She wouldn't thank him.

"I had to talk to you," he said, watching her as she took a seat on a huge boulder.

"You had to talk to me? You flew all the way to _Greenland _just to _talk _to me?"

"It's too important. I don't know if I could have conveyed how important it is to me any other way."

"I am coming back to DC, you know!"

"In another four months. And if I had waited that long, then you might not have believed me." He gave her a long look.

"Then talk," she said impatiently. "I have work to do."

Despite her order, he stayed silent for a moment, listening to his gut. Yes. This was right. Despite the time and the cost and the apparent insanity, this had been the right thing to do. Hopefully, it wasn't going to be a meaningless sacrifice.

"Bones." He stepped closer, just enough that he could reach out and take her hand if necessary. "I thought a lot since you left. I missed you, more than I would have thought possible. I've _never _missed anyone the way I missed you. Everywhere I went, I expected to see you. I can't even eat in the diner anymore; I look for you in the truck--even after all this time. And when I didn't--don't--see you, it was like part of me was missing. It felt as though my…heart was torn out. No," he said as she opened her mouth. "Let me talk, Bones. Please.

"The night you talked to Parker and me in Angela's office… You've blown me away with your care for my son, by the way."

"He's a sweet boy," she murmured. "Smart, observant."

"He is. And he loves you. But I watched you talk to him--and you were just perfect with him. Honest, caring. It made me think. Well, that and the, well, twinge might be the best word." He rubbed his chest abstractedly. "The way I felt seeing you again, anyway. You looked happy, Bones. Happy to be doing your job. Happy to be talking with Parker. And I was happy that you were happy. But it hurt to see you so far away. I wanted you happy at home. _Want _you to be happy at home.

"Trust me, I'm not straying from the subject here." He paced back and forth in front of her. "We watched a movie that night. _The Princess Bride_. I believe you're familiar with it?" he asked sardonically.

"I prefer the book, but the movie's quite enjoyable as well." Was that color rising in her cheeks?

"At the very beginning, when they introduce Westley and Buttercup, there's this whole riff about how he says 'as you wish,' but means 'I love you.'" Yes, not quite a true flush, but there was color there.

"I remember."

"And I had a revelation, I suppose you could call it. You've been saying things to me under all your other words. You didn't say 'as you wish'--no, you said 'alpha male,' and talked about sex and stole my fries and leaned on my shoulder and let your dad stay in the lab when I asked. That's more than friendship. Even the good friendship and partnership that we have."

"And?" Her eyes were bright though her voice stayed neutral. She was going to make him sweat it. He couldn't argue that he didn't deserve it.

"And I finally realized why you got so mad when I said some those things to you after your last date. There I was, happily babbling about someones and somedays when the person you thought was your someone was right in front of you." He ran a hand through his hair. "I was blind. I was waiting for my own someday, my own someone, and didn't look across the table, where she was patiently waiting for me to catch up.

"You, Bones, are my someone. At least I hope so. If you can forgive me, I want to be yours, and I want someday to be now." He offered her a crooked smile. "Or when you get back to DC. Lady's choice." He paused, not wanting his next statement to be lost among his other words.

"I love you, Bones, I do; I know that. I can _feel _it here--" he slapped his stomach, "--and here." He touched his heart. "And I _know _it here." He tapped the side of his head. "I don't know how long I loved you without knowing it; I don't know how long you've had feelings for me--or if you still do." He swallowed hard. "You have every right to slap me down for taking so long, for making you miserable, and it would serve me right if you found someone else. I'm sorriest that it took us falling apart for me to realize what you mean to me."

There. He had laid it all out in front of her, as neat and orderly as her bones. He had certainly had enough time to get it straight, from when he had blurted it out to Angela in her office, through the long flight, and then the drive to the dig.

She had her head down, though, and eyes on the ground, and he couldn't see her expression. "Bones?" he ventured.

**************************************

She listened to him quietly, feeling a different sort of heat start to burn inside her, somewhere in her thoracic cavity. But she held her tongue, unsure of what she wanted to say or even what she should say.

He sank to the ground in front of her, trying to meet her gaze. "Bones? Say something? Please?"

Slowly, reluctantly, she raised her eyes just enough to look into his. Like she had so many times in the past, she searched his expression, his eyes. Yes, there was something new there--something deeper and more promising than ever before. It was like comparing a bubble bath to an ocean--and when did she start using so many metaphors?

She suddenly resented the upheaval he brought, even if he was sincere (_and surely he is, _her romantic side pointed out_. Who flies out of the country at their own expense and inconvenience to lay his heart at someone's feet? Especially when he's not sure of the answer?_). But it wasn't enough, she realized with a start. Not nearly enough. How dare he do this to her? How _dare _he suddenly decide it was their time, now that _he _had realized _his _feelings? Now that _he _was ready, everything should just fall into place? What if _she _had changed her mind? Had he thought about that? Well, he might have, but not seriously, she was sure.

She bit her lip, uncertain, and took refuge behind her usual walls.

"I--I need to think," she said, rising to her feet and walking away.

**************************************

"Bones! Wait!" He raced after her, catching her by the arm just long enough to stop her.

"No, Booth," she said, looking him straight in the eye, unlike the last times they had spoken in person. "I've tried very hard to not think about this--and you've surprised me. I _need _to think!"

"I mean it," he assured her.

"And you meant the other things you've told me, too," she replied, her soft voice laying him open. "Can you blame me?"

"No," he admitted quietly, head hanging. "I suppose not."

They stood there for a long moment, silent.

"You can join us for dinner," she finally said, touching his arm lightly. "And stay in the visitors' tent overnight. I'll try my best to give you an answer tomorrow."

He nodded, then took his courage in both hands. "Two things, Bones, before we head back. I do want to apologize for all the crap I've given you recently. Especially the 'burn in hell' crack. Of all people, you deserve to go straight to Heaven."

She blinked at him, plainly taken aback.

"Next time I say something that out of line, Bones, smack me, willya?"

"Don't think I won't take you up on that," she threatened, just a little too much satisfaction at the thought showing in her expression. "What's the other thing?"

He swallowed hard, leaned forward, and gently kissed her. It was nothing like the smoldering mistletoe kiss, but a thrill ran though him regardless. "Take that into your considerations, Bones," he said in a slightly hoarse voice. "I mean every word I've said today."

**************************************

She jerked away from him, pulse pounding in her ears. And she threw out all pretense at calm and logic and rational thinking at the same time.

"You _bastard_!" she screamed at him. "What am I supposed to do now? You've come here with all these pretty words and _kisses_," she practically spat out the last word, "and expect me to do what? Fall into your arms swooning like some damn all forgiving romantic heroine, and forgetting the _Hell _you've put me through?"

There was nothing calculated about the force of her punch this time, and she knocked him to the ground.

"I come here," she continued, standing over him, "find some peace in doing the things I love, have always loved, and what's my reward? _You _show up and destroy it! You really are the rat bastard I thought you were in the beginning!"

She felt a stinging at the corners of her eyes and she abruptly turned away, sure he would misinterpret any tears of anger for weaker ones, and she was unwilling to display any weakness at all. "Leave me alone," she ordered him over her shoulder. "I don't want to see you, even _hear _you, until sometime tomorrow. And don't come looking for me, either. When I'm ready to talk, _I'll _find _you_." With that, she strode away, back toward the camp.


	10. Moth and Flame

Great Good Gods, this has grown a great deal from my original intent. Well, no harm, so long as you're all still with me. Like I said last chapter, much of this grew out of blc's suggestions, and they were most gratefully received.

All standard disclaimers involving ownership, research, etc., still apply. Especially the Russian…!

And I can't believe some of you really thought Booth just showing up would fix everything! (evil grin) Silly people!

* * *

What else could he do? Just what she ordered, of course.

He waited a short time before following her back, taking the opportunity to dust off his pants and seemingly reset his jaw. Damn, he had forgotten how hard she could punch!

Once back in camp, he joined the group heading for what had to be the kitchen, judging by the odors and time.

"So you work with Dr. Brennan in the States, I understand?" a man with a heavy Russian accent said to him as he hesitated in the door to the eating area. "Grigori Balakirev, Doctor of Archeology."

"Seeley Booth. _Prijatno poznakomit'sa_." They shook hands.

"Ah! You speak Russian!"

"Only a little," Booth admitted with a grin. "And not much of it for polite company, I'm sure. Learned it from some soldiers," he added by way of explanation.

"Come, let us get some food. You were in the Army, then?"

Booth nodded and scanned the small crowd. The woman who had greeted him when he arrived came up to him. "If you're looking for Dr. Brennan, she isn't here. She said something about a headache and took some soup to her tent." Reassured that he was still following her orders, he followed Balakirev to get some food and find a place to sit. At least she was remembering to eat!

The others at the table introduced themselves; he missed a few of the names, but caught the ones closest to him. Drs. Dineson and Linberg from Copenhagen; Clare Martin from Oxford…

"I was there last year," he told her. "Nice place."

"As was Dr. Brennan, I'm told. I'm sorry I missed her lecture series."

The others were politely curious about his work, and answered his own questions about the dig and local conditions with equal courtesy. After a while, their talk turned to the dig itself, discussing the artifacts they had found, the iron knife, a whetstone, a comb. The discussion rapidly turned into a debate on whether people had suddenly fled or simply died in their homes since things needed daily were still here.

Booth found it interesting, but was glad he wasn't asked to participate. Common sense didn't always seem to be a factor in these kinds of debates, he knew from experience, and that was all he had to offer.

**************************************

Brennan lay on her cot, staring at the tent's ceiling. She had thought she had everything worked out. But she hadn't factored in Booth figuring it out and charging after her.

Now she didn't know what to do.

She checked her watch. Too late to call Ange on a Friday night. First thing tomorrow, though she didn't know if it would be to ask for help or to scold. She still wasn't happy that Angela had told Booth exactly where to find her, but…Angela was also the best person to talk to in situations like this.

Sighing, she closed her eyes, sorting through the events of the day, considering everything he had said.

"_And I finally realized why you got so mad when I said some those things to you after your last date. There I was, happily babbling about someones and somedays when the person you thought was your someone was right in front of you…I was blind. I was waiting for my own someday, my own someone, and didn't look across the table, where she was patiently waiting for me to catch up."_

Presumptuous bastard. Even if he had finally caught up with reality, as Ange would say.

"_I love you, Bones, I do; I know that. I can _feel _it here--" he slapped his stomach, "--and here." He touched his heart. "And I _know _it here." He tapped the side of his head._

She hadn't missed the significance of his gestures--his much vaunted gut, his heart, and his head all agreed. When he made that jump, he gave it his all; she knew that, always had known that, if he did, it would be something outside of her personal experience. Something in him made it easier to commit all the way--_when _he found something or someone worth it--but she had a harder time, even when it was something she wanted. She wanted to hold back, just a little, just in case. Once burned, forever shy.

_Head and heart_; it would be their motto if they had one. He was the heart; she was the head; the body did not exist without them--the center in truth. It was always that way, even as they learned from each other. Had he not seen how she learned from him? Could she explain? Should she try?

It was…scary to put your feelings out there like that. How could it not be? First steps were always the most worrisome and uncertain. Which was probably the real reason she hadn't said anything sooner--if he made the first step, the first overture, then she could have followed, caught up with him, and _together _they could have blazed the rest of the trail.

Logic, she told herself firmly. Not metaphors.

_Fact_: Booth had come to Greenland, not an easy trip, because he thought it was important that he talk with her. To bare his heart, so to speak.

_Fact_: He rarely, if ever, joked about the importance of said heart.

_Fact_: She valued his friendship and their partnership.

_Fact_: She was still in love with him.

_Fact_: She _knew _as surely as she knew the bones in the body that it would hurt if they didn't work out, but never trying it would be infinitely more painful. Knew it well enough to count it as a fact, anyway.

She groaned softly. _This _was why she hated sorting through emotions. They were so nebulous and contradictory, vague, unable to be measured.

At least _he _was doing what he was told. Not even a flicker of a shadow or the echo of his voice, though she was sure he had charmed the location of her tent out of someone. She didn't need the confusion of his presence as she re-categorized her thoughts.

_I've _never _missed anyone the way I missed you._

She shifted restlessly.

Was this the moment? All or nothing? She did still want it, didn't she?

_Heart into overdrive_--his advice popped into her head. Maybe she should try it again, even if it meant a repeat of today. She rubbed her knuckles absently.

In the meantime, however, she would work. It would help her collect her thoughts better than staring at a square of canvas. She slid off the cot and went to the tent she and Dr. Dineson had been working in earlier, dropping her soup mug off in the kitchen along the way.

She had been there about an hour when that familiar feeling crept over her. "I know you're there, Booth," she said quietly, not taking her eyes off the bone she was examining.

There was only silence behind her and she ducked her head to hide her amused expression. "You can come in," she assured him.

"How'd you know, Bones?" he asked in an equally quiet voice.

"I've worked with you for four years and you're always coming up behind me. And you're always watching me. Why would it be any different here?"

"Good point." He found a stool and set it on the other side of the table from her. "Whatcha got there? Are you able to tell me?"

"This is one of our most recent finds. Female, early twenties. We think she died in childbirth."

"Why?"

"Mostly because of this." She turned to expose another skeleton on an adjacent table. "A infant was buried with her, plus I was able to detect indications of recent birth; well, recent relative to time of death. DNA will confirm, of course, if this is indeed mother and child."

Booth looked at the small skeleton with that pained look he reserved for juvenile victims. "Any way of knowing what happened?"

"Probably starvation or malnutrition at the least," she sighed, covering the bones again. "All of the skeletons we've examined dating from the late fourteenth century show such signs. But they were buried with care." She slid the box of gloves at him. "Put on a pair."

He did, with a scowl that faded when she opened another box. "We also found these with her."

He picked out the exact item she would have predicted--a badly stained ivory cross. "Christian?"

"Yes; a large number of the settlers here were. It's a common fallacy that all Norsemen were pagans; Christian missionaries reached Scandinavia in the 900s, I believe. It's a matter of historical record that a church was built in the original settlement, no matter how many followers of the older gods there would have been at the same time."

**************************************

Booth hadn't been able to sleep, so he had decided to just take a short walk. The glow inside one of what had been pointed out to him as a "working tent" drew him, so he stuck his head in, curious. He shouldn't have been surprised to see Bones, working away, late at night, when everyone else was sleeping. So typical of her. He watched, admiring the grace and care in her fingers, the careful attention she gave the bones in front of her. He had missed that.

Mindful of her order, he stayed in the doorway, quiet as only a well-trained sniper could be. And was still startled out of his skin when she spoke to him. She had been doing that for a while, hadn't she? The woman who no doubt would never believe in sixth senses apparently had one.

Wary of her quiet and calm tone, he came around at her invitation. But he couldn't help but ask about the body, just as though they were still at the Jeffersonian, and she told him, showed him the little, barely-there skeleton of a child who had lived just long enough to die. He couldn't help but think that perhaps it was good that the child died with the mother--neither would be alone in Heaven.

And then she had completely and utterly stunned him by letting him handle the artifacts. He hated wearing gloves, but holding that painstakingly carved cross in his hand, a feeling of awe and amazement ran through him, making the irritation disappear.

"Rosary or necklace?" he asked once she finished talking about missionaries and churches.

"Necklace, probably. We haven't found any other beads." She leaned closer, tipping his hand and studying the hole drilled into the cross. "The cord has long since rotted away."

"Oh." She was too close and he swallowed hard. Kissing her again would do no good, he shouldn't have done it in the first place, but he desperately wanted to. To distract himself, he put the cross back in the box and looked at what else was in there. Fasteners for clothes, mostly, and a glint of metal. He fished it out with all due caution and stared at it.

"Earring," she said matter-of-factly. "We haven't found the other one yet." She looked at it, lying in his palm, then turned back to the skeleton.

He put it back and yanked off the gloves, content to sit and watch her. He studied the smooth line of her jaw, the auburn glints in her hair, her total absorption in the task at hand. When he thought about it, he knew that he had been watching her for a very long time and once again mentally smacked himself for being so observant yet unobservant at the same time.

**************************************

"I suppose you'd like to talk," she said to him as she covered the skeleton. He had been remarkably patient, just sitting there, and somehow, no matter how upset she was, it felt _nice_, for lack of a better or more descriptive word. No--_right _might be a better one; she had gotten used to examining bodies with Booth looking over her shoulder.

"If you want," he said. "You said to wait until you're ready."

"So I did." She closed up the box of artifacts and put it away. "And if I'm not?"

"Then I'll go back to my tent. I was only out here because I couldn't sleep."

"Same here." They exchanged little smiles, remembering the nights of take out and late phone calls.

"Since you're talking to me, Bones, and if you're not tired, we could go for a walk?"

She pondered that for a few minutes. It was dark, and that might actually help: hide her face while she said all those potentially embarrassing things.

"Why not." She extinguished the lights and followed him out.

**************************************

They walked alongside each other, somehow on the path back to the meadow, barely needing the flashlight in her coat pocket due to the full moon. She let her mind wander--maybe she could turn some of this into some Kathy & Andy angst. Give it a little twist--_I want her, but she's too good for me…there's no way he could want me_. Maybe not the next book, but the one after?

But once they reached the meadow, she drew a deep breath and let it out with a huge sigh. "Booth," she started, still uncertain, but with a sense that it truly was now or never. And that she would have to start. "What--who--" She took a deep breath, trying to bring her thoughts back under control. "Did you talk to anyone about this?" A nice oblique approach, she thought.

"Not really. I had to meet with Sweets while you were gone, and he poked and prodded at me, but he never came out and said anything specific, just made me think about why you ran when our partnership seemed so good."

"Oh?" she asked, sitting on her favorite boulder.

"Yeah." Booth ran a hand through his hair again. "He pointed out that if we were as good as we looked, then you wouldn't have felt the need to leave. Or that you likely would have been more willing to talk about what was wrong, rather than walling off."

"I'm surprised you met with him at all," she said, dodging the question for a moment.

"Cullen made me." An echo of his resentment showed. "I still hate therapy sessions, just for the record, Bones, but I think talking to Sweets made me more open to the revelation when it came, if that makes any sense. Once I figured it out, though, I talked to Angela."

"And what did she say?"

**************************************

He knew he would have to step lightly here--Angela was _her _friend first and foremost. "She slapped me upside the back of the head and told me I was a first class idiot for driving you crazy. Told me it was about damn time I came to my senses and someone really should inform the FBI that I wasn't that great an investigator since I couldn't see the facts when they were right in front of me." He felt his face get hot. "She said a lot of other things, too--just not as complimentary."

There--she smiled. Just a little one, but it was real and the best thing he had seen in six months.

"Cam told me to my face from the start that whatever I did, I was an idiot. Even Parker had a few things to say when I told him I was coming here. Rebecca dope-slapped me, too." He rubbed the back of his head.

"Parker scolded you?" She sounded disbelieving. "And Rebecca…"

"No, he just let me know that it was the greatest thing ever that I was coming here and was I bringing you home? But I guess he told Rebecca a few things, and she's not a dummy either, Bones. Not as brilliant as you, but I haven't dated a complete airhead since I graduated high school." He hesitated. "Did everyone know?"

"I don't know everyone, so I really couldn't say," she said primly.

"And there's the smart-mouthed Bones I know and love." But he let himself grin as he said it.

"But according to Ange, yes, everyone did--except you."

"I won't argue. Even Cullen looked knowing when I asked for the time off."

She looked pensive, smile fading. He had to ask, his own grin sliding away in turn.

"Just tell me, Bones--how long?"

"Sometime after we were in New Orleans," she said, sounding a little choked. "But I knew for certain before Epps--"

"You knew by the time I drew the line?" He was incredulous.

"Yes. And I _respected _that line of yours, though it almost killed me. I was sure you meant it, especially after you practically pushed me at Sully when I worked with him, damn near threw me on his boat. _Despite _all those odd little interruptions. I--there are--I was so confused, Booth. You drew lines and yet you constantly interfered with my social life. You fed me all those sweet words, yet never once either offered to fulfill them or let me go to find the answers myself!" Her breathing quickened.

"You're the great investigator, the people person! Yet you're the one who tied me up in knots over all those damn promises, those soulful looks, those gentle touches. And you never saw it!" She stalked up to him, eyes flaring, poking him in the chest. "You're the heart aspect of our partnership, I _trusted _you to see these things, help me with them! You never saw it--do you have any idea of how that felt? I started to think _I _was doing something wrong--that I was incapable of properly feeling, seeing, showing--even _having_--emotions!

"And your line! I tried so hard to honor that damn line of yours. And you had no idea how I struggled with it. More than two full years and you were so blind!" She whirled away again. "I tried," she repeated softly. "Every man I dated, the ones you knew about and the ones you didn't, they were all substitutes for you. I think that's why I was so interested in _Jared_--he was the closest I could get to _Seeley_, and yet he was nothing. Worse than nothing, in the end."

Her words shook him to the core. He'd had no idea how long she had felt that way about him, how deeply he had wounded her. And the stuff about her doubting the validity of her own emotions, her capability to feel at all…he thought he had known how it felt to have his heart ripped out, but now he knew for certain. And Jared…he gulped, finally understanding.

"God, Bones," he whispered, sinking onto another boulder. "I'm so sorry. If I had known, if I had opened my eyes sooner--I never wanted to cause you pain."

"Well, you did," she replied in a muffled voice. "And I don't know if I will be able to forgive you anytime soon."

They stayed like that for a long time. Finally, he rose and walked around to face her. Gently, he laid hands on her shoulders, not daring much else.

"Look at me, Bones, please?"

She looked at him, eyes glimmering with emotion.

"I am sorry. I'll say as often as you need to hear it. I'll tell you I love you whenever you want to hear it, whenever you're ready to hear it again. Neither is a lie. Neither will be a lie, ever--I can't lie to you, or myself, anymore. Will you give me a chance? Give _us _a chance?"

**************************************

The moonlight showed her just enough of his face that she could see his sincerity--he really was one of the few she could actually read. She touched his face lightly, dislodging one of his hands; it came to rest on the curve of her waist. The other one slid down to match a moment later.

"I want to say yes," she said, letting her fingers slide down his neck, rest in the hollow at its base. His pulse beat furiously under her touch. "But I can't, not yet. There's too much here--I have to stay here for a while yet, I'm committed now. And it wouldn't be fair to either the old project or the new…venture for me to split my focus.

"Ask me again in DC," she told him softly before wrapping her arms about his waist and resting her head against his heart. His own arms came back up after a minute and slid around her, holding her in place.

* * *

_Prijatno poznakomit'sa_--pleased to meet you

Dang. I knew I should have tried harder to finish this chapter before they aired EitB. _Completely _threw me off my game. Hence the delay. And probably the struggle. Tell me this isn't too pat, _please_…!

And there is an epilogue!


	11. Epilogue: Homecoming

And here we are at the end. All good things, etc… Thanks for coming along for the ride, the reviews, the alerts, the love! I must go put the toys away now before something else can happen to them.

I'm not exactly apologizing for the delay. I would be ashamed to just slap something together for something so well regarded and I will say getting the right mix of serious and fluff was tricky.

And this would be set in December 2009, if it weren't AU…

* * *

Brennan walked off the plane with a feeling of relief. They had barely gotten out of Nuut, due to the weather, and another storm had extended down into Canada quite a ways. The stopover in Montreal had been longer than anyone would have liked. Fortunately, she had been able to contact her ride that she was going to be late by a who-knows-how-long amount of time. And now, she was simply grateful to be home.

Passing into the main concourse, she scanned the area reflexively, noted the outside temperature on a "Welcome to Washington DC" sign. Thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit, zero Celsius--balmy, considering where she had been--and sunny. Definitely a nice change.

With her usual brisk stride, she headed for baggage claim. Something made her stop, though, and she spun about to regard a man in a suit. "Why are you following me?" she inquired with all possible sweetness.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Brennan, ma'am. But you do have a habit of improperly transporting human remains," he said with a cocky grin. "Perhaps you'd care to step over here and let me check your bag?"

"If I must," she said with a heavy sigh. "Though I need to see some identification first. I'd rather not assault Homeland Security again."

"What about FBI?" he asked, pulling aside his suit jacket to display the badge at his waist.

A smile tugging at her lips, she shrugged. "I don't know--there's this special agent that I still owe a beating."

"Maybe you could forgo it," he murmured, taking her carry-on.

"I suppose I could hold it in reserve at the very least," she conceded before giving him what was _definitely _not a guy hug.

"Welcome home, Bones," Booth murmured, hugging her close.

_I asked Cullen today to exactly explain the rules about relationships with coworkers, _he had emailed her. From the time he had gone back to DC, they had started an email correspondence, with the occasional webcam "conference." Partly for the simple pleasure of contact with each other, but also for serious discussion on issues they didn't have a chance to talk about--or hadn't thought of--while he was in Greenland. _We fall into a loophole--you're a contractor, as you've noted, and not technically an employee of the Bureau. I couldn't get involved with a woman in another unit, nor with one in __my __unit, because their checks come from the FBI. Yours come from the Jeffersonian. Mere technicality, I know, but it's one that lets us do what we want to do. There might be some paperwork about conflict of interest; we'll have to talk with Caroline. She ought to love that, considering she's the reason you hung mistletoe in your office._

*****************************************************

"You know," she said dryly, "I can carry my own bags."

"So you always tell me. I'll give this back when we collect the rest of your baggage. Remember, I was raised to be a gentleman." He hefted it a little more securely onto his shoulder. "So what do you feel like doing? I got some strict orders to bring you by the lab today if your plane got arrived in time, and your youngest admirer has also demanded a visit. But, hey, if you're tired, heck with all that and I can take you straight home."

"Angela will hunt me down anyway, and there's a conversation _we _were going to have that probably would go over better without worrying about interruptions," she said thoughtfully and he couldn't help the smile that she remembered.

"What, you thought I forgot?" she asked, arching her brows. "How could I, when you reminded me almost every other email?"

He shrugged. "It was important to me," was all he said.

"And me," she said a little tartly. "When have I ever forgotten anything that mattered?"

"Never," he conceded. "Are we going to fight like this all the time?"

"I thought it was bickering," she replied innocently. "Just like we always do. Isn't that what you told Sweets last year?"

"And we do it so well." Booth chuckled. "Parker is ecstatic that you made it home in time for Christmas, by the way. He has some grand plans."

"He's just lucky I was able to leave a couple months early."

"So am I." He slung his free arm about her shoulders, taking pleasure in the simple contact.

_I would prefer not to act like Angela and Hodgins at work. Yes, I saw part of the infamous recording; I guess they used it to stimulate their passions and I walked in on Angela watching it one day. Don't make that face! I don't need such things (though they can be nice so long as they don't star anyone we know), nor do I wish to feature on one. We've worked up such interest among our coworkers we'd never get the copy anyway! I don't mind kisses and hugs in the lab--we've done those already--but please, we do need to keep it professional. Besides, how would it look when we're in court and some idiot defender decides to mention the fact we were "going at it like bunnies," as Cam says, in the office while trying to solve the case. We'd lose all credibility and would no longer be partners. That's too high a price for a little pleasure. Little in the grand scheme of things, anyway._

*****************************************************

"Sweetie! You're home!" Angela squealed, running across the lab and nearly knocking Brennan over in her enthusiasm.

"Ange! Easy!" Brennan exclaimed, hugging her friend back. "Yes, I'm home and safe and glad to be back."

"Now, you didn't come back here to work today, did you?" Angela asked warningly.

"No. Booth said he was under orders to bring me here, that's all. I might collect a couple things from my office, but I'm not planning to work until Monday at the earliest. Possibly not until the new year, since my sabbatical technically doesn't end for a few more months." She swiped herself up on the platform to greet Hodgins and Clark. "Anything new and interesting? Agent Booth over there won't tell me about any cases that might be open." She injected a little whine into her voice. "Apparently he thinks I won't be able to leave if I so much as glance at a humerus." Hodgins chuckled; Clark managed a small smile.

"I'm glad you managed to survive, Clark," she told him in a low voice, hand on his shoulder. "Like I told you before I left, around here, the ends very often justify the means. So long as evidentiary protocol is observed and the work is done, the joking can be ignored. Should be ignored, in some cases."

He gave her a wry smile. "At least they've stopped asking about my private life."

She returned his smile. "So. _Is _there anything interesting I should know about? I'm quite serious about the waiting thing unless something major comes up."

"Not a thing, Dr. B," Hodgins said cheerfully. "Glad you're back. Don't suppose you actually brought me some samples?"

"Sorry, Hodgins--they wouldn't let me bring any for fun." She talked for a while with them, Booth and Angela joining them, before she excused herself for the last two stops in the lab--Cam and her own office.

"No, Dr. Brennan, coming back in January is just fine," Cam assured her when she brought up her plans.

"I'll probably run through my email, make sure I didn't miss anything important."

"That's fine. Did you enjoy the dig?"

"Yes, actually. It felt nice to return to that aspect of my job. Rejuvenating, even."

"A new year, a clean slate in more ways than one," Cam agreed. "But nothing to set the academic world on its ear?"

"Nothing so exciting in layman's terms."

They caught up a little more on the important doings at the lab, before Brennan headed for her office. A little dusty, but not too bad--maintenance was doing their job. She found the handful of items she wanted to take home and set them aside, before she saw an envelope half tucked under her computer. Sliding it out, she found the brief note from Booth that Angela had read to her so many months ago.

She blinked a bit; it was understated, but she could read the sincerity in his simple apology, his desire to make things right. She tucked it into her bag, then unlocked her desk and opened the belly drawer.

Pulling out Brainy and Jasper, she smiled softly and tucked them away next to the note, with the faint hope Booth wouldn't notice when they were reinstated. He had never said anything about not seeing them, but one never knew, with him. She relocked the desk and turned.

Booth had stayed up on the platform when she went to see Cam, talking to Angela, Hodgins, and Clark. She took a moment to study him, so completely at ease, animated about whatever they were talking about. It had taken her well over a year to even admit he was attractive, and longer to agree that there was something that drew her to him. Not that she had been willing to say so to anyone! Well, now it was going to be different, and she didn't care who knew once she came back to work.

Smiling to herself, she shut the lights off and joined him on the platform.

_I know we're both workaholics, Bones, but we're going to have to try and step back a little when there's no case. I know that sounds like it mostly falls on you, but I have my moments. It's been easier to stay late and catch up on paperwork and target practice when I had no social life beyond catching a drink with you and the Squints or my time with Parker. Very occasionally I might get a beer and watch the game with some of the guys from the office, but that's not happening very often these days. If we're going to do this, we have to dedicate time to making sure it works. Which means--to me--that on non-case nights, we're leaving work no later than 6. Exceptions, of course; I know you sometimes get some last minute and rush requests that make you stay late--so do I. All we can do then is let the other know, maybe keep each other company. God knows I've spent enough time on the platform or in your office, just watching you. I can keep doing it. And look at it this way--leaving work at 6 gives us a little more time to play._

*****************************************************

"Angela and I came over yesterday, did a little cleaning, aired the place out. Restocked the fridge," Booth explained a little uncertainly as she unlocked the door. "Hope you don't mind."

"Not at all. That closed-in, dusty feeling is the worst thing about coming home." She dropped her carry-on by the couch, out of the way. "If you don't mind, you can carry those into the bedroom, alpha-male. Is Thai all right?"

"When is Thai not all right?" he asked. "Assuming _you _remember what to order."

Her laughter followed him back as he ducked into her bedroom. He set the bags at the foot of the bed and took a look around. He had never been in this room before, but looking around at the airy room and its almost chaste decor, he was certainly looking forward to spending a lot of time in it.

But not tonight.

Tonight was for talking and Thai and maybe some of those heart-pounding, dangerous kisses she had favored him with before he flew home. Though if she tried any of that dirty talk she had teased him with via the webcam that one night…

He chuckled, though, as he walked back into the living room. He should have expected her more daring side, considering all those embarrassing conversations over the years. It should be fun, he thought.

_Parker is important to you. For your sake alone, even had I not developed my own relationship with him, he would be important to me. I'm glad I did however, because that makes it easier now. He knows me and I know him, and we can skip all the uncomfortable aspects of introducing your child to the new woman in your life. I understand he must be your primary concern, and I will never begrudge you the time you spend with him. How could I? He is your son; I would never wish him the agonies of wondering why his father disappeared or even why you stopped paying attention to him. I understand that feeling all too well, and I suspect you are not unfamiliar with it, either._

*****************************************************

They sat next to each other on the couch, close enough that their hips touched, falling back into their old routine with surprising ease.

And as they ate, they talked. About all the things they had discussed in emails and webcam, brought up any new thoughts. But they were moving in the right direction, so far as she was concerned.

"Caroline was pretty amused when I mentioned the conflict of interest to her," Booth said, finishing his pad thai.

"Oh? Well, you thought she would be," she pointed out, scrabbling up the last of the mee krob.

"She wanted to know what was wrong with me that it took two years for me to do anything about that kiss. All she wanted was five seconds, Bones."

"I know," she retorted calmly. "I can't help that it was probably closer to twelve. Besides, you had something to do with it as well." She put down the carton, eying the last spring roll predatorily. "If you only knew how long I had wanted to do something like that."

He picked it up before she could claim it, trailed it across her mouth, then yanked it away before she could take a bite. "From everything you've said, about a year at that point." He brought it back and this time, she managed to bite off a piece. "I am sorry."

He repeated the motion, smirking at her as she tried to get another bite, then popped it in his own mouth. She slapped his shoulder in mock reproach, but couldn't keep the grin from her face.

_We have nasty pieces in our pasts, that can't be denied (skeletons in the closet. So to speak ;-) ). It just about killed me to hear you tell Sweets about that one foster home, for example. We don't share those part of ourselves very often. Someday, I would like to sit and share more of that--good and bad both. No judging, just get it out in the open. I may have been slow to come to my senses, but believe me when I say there is no part of you I cannot love, and while I feel that I have more black marks on my soul than you could ever have, I think I should share more of what made them. If you can look into a mass grave or handle a murdered child's bones and yet see the good in the world around you, I finally know you won't turn from me. You would have already._

*****************************************************

"Angela bought some éclairs," he offered; her eyes lit up.

"Bring them on," she ordered. He laughed outright as he got them from the fridge.

"How come I didn't know how much you enjoy these, Bones?"

"It never came up," she retorted, breaking one in half. "Besides, these are the only ones I eat. No other bakery does them half so well." She scooped out some of the filling and sucked it off her finger, eyes closing. "Mmm."

"I'll bring you one everyday," he promised hoarsely, watching her. She cracked open an eye, then grinned.

"Something you like, Booth?"

"Very much, Bones." He leaned in closer to kiss her, but she turned the tables by holding up the untouched half between them, the chocolate rubbing off onto his mouth.

"Much as I enjoy kissing you, I can't help but think a custard-covered Booth might be even better." She was _teasing_! He groaned.

"Ah, Bones, don't do this to me, or I can't be responsible for my actions."

She laughed outright and seductively nibbled at her dessert. Never in a million years would he have believed this at the beginning of their partnership--that she could be so light and playfully sexy, much less that he would have been willing to start a relationship with her.

He shoved the box behind him; apparently they were taking a break from the serious stuff. That was all right--he really liked this side of her and was willing to explore.

"Booth," she complained.

He held up the pastry he had taken before moving the box. "A bargain. One kiss for every bite."

"I thought the FBI disapproved of ransom and blackmail," she murmured, pressing her lips to his cheek.

"Only when it's levered against us." He let her take a small bite, grinning. When she kissed him again, properly this time, the grin only widened. There was something to be said for an éclair-flavored Bones.

When it was gone, he sat back, wiping his fingers. There was one last thing he wanted to ask tonight.

"Do you forgive me, Bones?"

She lowered her head, refraining from licking the remaining chocolate from her fingers. "Yes," she sighed. "I think I do. I suppose I might be so irrational at some point in the future to mention it again, but hopefully only under extreme provocation," she added, using her most rational and professorial voice.

He laughed--he couldn't help it. "All right. I suppose I deserved that."

"Yes. You do." She gave him a severe look. "I believe I am supposed to inform you at this point that forgetting certain anniversaries would be considered such provocation."

"Angela strikes again," he groaned, falling back against the cushions.

Brennan smiled slyly. "Well, she did give me that advice, but I would personally be inclined to cut you some ease--is that the word?--the first time."

"Slack," he said. "And trust me, Bones, I appreciate it."

_I need you to tell me what is important to you, Booth, and define some limits. Someone once said to me: "You judge people by your own yardstick." I think they meant that I expect people to think like me, to react to things the way I do, and that I don't always understand why they don't. I am extremely rational and empirical, even for an anthropologist, and so much of the way you think is (has been?) beyond my own frame of reference; I have teased and scorned and mocked concepts and ideals you hold dear. In the beginning, it was truly because I couldn't see the value; later, it was teasing for the most part. I knew what buttons to push to get a rise out of you. And I would be lying if I said I wasn't trying to rouse you to some physical interaction at times. But tell me--calmly, quietly--when I get too close. I don't want to hurt you any more than I already have._

*****************************************************

"Go home, Booth," she finally said about eleven. "It's too late for me--I'm still on Greenland time." She gave in to the urge she had been trying to stifle for a while and yawned widely. "Bring Parker by tomorrow." She turned and surveyed the room thoughtfully. "After all, I will need some assistance in the matter of finding a Christmas tree and a few decorations. What do you think?"

"I think Parker and I would be delighted to assist," he told her, matching her tone. "I might even still have the tree I brought to the prison a couple years ago."

"Why would you still have that?"

He shrugged; she cocked her head. "You're not telling me something."

He grimaced in a way that told her it was something he didn't want to talk about. "Bones…I don't know," he finally mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "It…was yours, in some way. I couldn't get rid of it, and I knew you weren't up to full-blown Christmas displays, so I couldn't give it to you last year…"

She shook her head in resignation. He couldn't see what was under his nose, yet he could still act like that--! "Bring it over, then. I'll have to find some ornaments, I suppose. But I am not going as overblown as you do," she warned him. "No Nativities, no swags or garlands or that artificial stuff they spray on windows. No garish displays of lights in my windows. _Nothing _that looks like Kris Kringle's apartment."

"Mistletoe?" he asked, grinning.

She pretended to think it over. "I suppose that would be acceptable."

"I hope so," he murmured, leaning in. "Mistletoe is lucky, you know?"

"No, I thought--"

"Well, anything that lets me do _this_ is lucky in my book." And he bent his head and kissed her again, pulling her close.

"I concur completely," she murmured when they broke for air, and hauled him down again. "I do love you, Booth," she added just before their lips touched.

* * *

_Yes, we're truly done. Back to Oblique (in a way, the fluffy flip side of this coin) and some other projects I've got brewing._


End file.
